Secrets of the Heart
by I'm Just Drawn That Way
Summary: 5 yrs post-war: roughly canon-compliant except Snape survived, thanks to a certain Gryffindor brunette. Now they are working together on ways to reverse damage done by Dark Arts. And their relationship is... complicated. HGSS, M for late chapters.
1. Chapter 1: Birthday Blues

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the characters or setting – those belong to JK Rowling, to whom I am eternally grateful for creating the Potterverse. I'm just taking a couple of her characters out for a spin, but promise to return them, only slightly the worse for wear.

_A/N: This story is AU in that Severus Snape did not die. A rather brainy brunette saved him after Nagini's attack in DH. As much as is possible, I'll make this canon-compliant, though I'm ignoring the epilogue._

_A/N II: Special Thanks to **Felena1971**, who is part co-author, part Beta-reader, and all wonderful. We brainstorm together, I write up a draft, she helps tweak the draft, and then up it goes for your reading pleasure. _

Chapter 1: Birthday Blues

* * *

**Part one: Hermione**

Ever since I woke up this morning, I have had a vague sensation that something is deeply wrong. I can't quite place the source of my malaise. I know some people suffer from the "Birthday Blues," but that's never been my style. I have always loved my birthday.

I am sitting at the staff table, between Poppy Pomfrey and Severus Snape, sipping my coffee and perusing the Daily Prophet, when one post owl drops a package onto my freshly buttered toast, and a second lands in front of the sugar bowl and hoots impatiently for me to remove the small note card tied to her extended leg. I tend to the second delivery first, so I can relieve the owl of her burden. She flies away without a backward glance as I open the card.

_Dear Hermione,_

_Happy 23rd birthday._

_We are looking forward to your visit next weekend._

_Until then,_

_Mum and Dad_

My parents' formal and distant tone makes my eyes prick with tears, but I blink them back, hoping no one has noticed. Poppy would be kind and motherly – which might just make me feel worse – but Severus would certainly see tears as evidence of weakness. People ARE looking at me, of course. People can't help but look in your direction when you have a package in your breakfast.

Chin up, Hermione! Mum and Dad are trying, after all. I don't have any right to expect their old enthusiastic, news- and love-filled letters anymore after what I did. Still, it has been five years. How long will they hold it against me? They finally conceded a couple of years ago that my intentions were noble, but I don't know if they'll ever be able to fully forgive me for the means I employed. Four years after I removed the Memory Charm, the people I love most in the world are still hurting.

At least the package in my toast should make me feel better – I'm sure it is from Harry and Ron. Underneath the buttery wrapping, I find a box of my favorite chocolates (an assortment of truffles from Godiva) and two cards. Harry must have done the shopping, as he has more knowledge of muggle sweets. Ron's card is predictable: funny, but with an earnest sentiment hand-written inside: "_Just think, by this time next year, you'll be done with your training and we can get married!_" He's been proposing at fairly regular intervals for the past four years.

Mmmm, Godiva. The world's most heavenly chocolate. The dark chocolate and raspberry ones are so good they're dangerous. You have to sit down to eat them: if you're standing (or worse, walking), your knees buckle, and you could fall. I find the dark chocolate and raspberry truffle and bite off half of it. I don't chew or even suck – I just let it melt in my mouth, so that it lasts as long as possible.

Oops. I must have moaned out loud. Severus just gave me a very odd look, and Poppy is now eyeing my chocolates. Oh, fine. I suppose I should share – I do have an embarrassment of riches here.

"Poppy, would you like to try one?"

"Ooh, I thought you'd never ask!"

She picks the dark chocolate and cappuccino truffle. Damn. I love that one.

"Ohhhhhhhhh," she sighs. I think she's having a chocolate orgasm. Severus raises an eyebrow skeptically.

"Severus?" I ask, as I offer him the box.

"Hmph," he snorts. "Muggle food." He turns up his considerable nose.

I locate the extra-dark chocolate truffle and hold it out to him. "Come on, Severus, look how dark it is. Try it – you'll love it. It's one of my all-time favorite sweets."

He gives me the strangest look, as though he can't decide whether or not to be offended. Was it my suggestion that he likes dark things, or just my insistence that he put something muggle-made into his mouth? And suddenly, he pushes back his chair and rises to leave, his breakfast only half-eaten. He looks down at me, black curtains of hair hanging around his face.

"I don't do sweet," he says, and he turns dramatically and swoops off, back to the dungeon to prepare to torture the students in his first hour class.

"You don't know what you're missing," I say to his retreating back, and pop the second half of my truffle into my mouth, licking my fingers clean.

If Ron had only known that chocolates can make Professor Snape disappear so effectively, he'd have saved up Chocolate Frogs and shoved them at Snape before every Potions class. Poor Ron always hated Snape. I can't wait to tell him the effect his birthday gift to me had on his former nemesis.

Honestly, I don't know why I haven't accepted Ron's marriage proposal yet. I love him. I have loved him forever, it seems. I love his family, and they love me. We are obviously meant to be together. I have forgiven him for leaving Harry and me while we were hunting Voldemort's horcruxes. I know it was the locket that made him behave like such an arse. (Though neither Harry nor I acted so cruelly when it was our turn to wear the damned thing.) But he came back, he saved Harry's life, he was frantic to save me from being tortured, he figured out how to get the basilisk fangs and destroy the horcruxes, and he has shown more respect for house elves in recent years than any other human I know, except perhaps Harry. Of course I love him.

I keep telling him that I need to finish my training before I can get married – so he really got his hopes up last year when I completed the St. Mungo's Healer Training program. Then I signed on for this extra year of study to get a specialty in Dark Arts Damage Reversal. He was not pleased, even after I explained that with it, I would be better able to heal him, Harry, and the other Aurors when they get injured in the line of duty. He thinks I'm just stalling. How ridiculous.

At least Harry's card shouldn't make me feel guilty, the way Mum and Dad's and Ron's cards did. "_I can't believe we're not there to celebrate with you,_" it says. "_Do you realize this is the first time in 12 years that we're not together on September 19th?_" And then it hits me – that's why I woke up feeling that something was seriously amiss! Ever since my twelfth birthday, a couple of weeks into our first year, Harry and Ron have been part of my celebrations. Not that we were best friends yet that first year – it wasn't until Halloween that we really got close – but they were there in the common room, smiling and wishing me many happy returns of the day. Even after Hogwarts, while they were in their Auror training program, we still managed to spend at least part of the day together on my birthday every year. But this year they are on some secret Auror mission, and I won't see them for a couple of weeks.

I try to wipe my eyes on my napkin without calling attention to my tears. What am I sniffling about, anyway? So my best friends aren't here. I have other friends! I smile bravely and wave down the table to Neville – the youngest member of the staff. I'm so proud of him. He's thrilled to be teaching at Hogwarts, and I hear that his Herbology students all love him. I wonder if Neville would have a drink with me this evening. I'll have to ask him if he's free to head over to the Three Broomsticks after supper.

* * *

**Part two: Severus**

Insufferable witch. All afternoon while we were supposed to be working together, she was distracted. Now and then she would sigh deeply and loudly, as if she expected me to ask what was wrong, and start a conversation about her Feelings. As if I'd ever want to open that door. I'd never hear the end of it – day after day of her angst over that idiot Weasley. I overhear enough of it as things are already. You'd think the staff had nothing better to do than to discuss the love lives of former students. Idle gossip – it infuriates me.

I didn't want to work with her in the first place, of course. I know how irritating she is. I had thought I was done with her after she graduated, but here she is, back at Hogwarts – and worse: in my lab. Working with me three afternoons every week. As if I had all those hours with nothing better to do! But Hermione Granger tends to get what she wants. She's as stubborn as a centaur, and she's rather well connected, being best friends with Harry the Conqueror. So when she insisted upon working with me for this year of specialty training in Dark Arts Damage Reversal, I couldn't refuse.

Literally – I couldn't refuse. I have been in her debt since she saved my life. Why the hell couldn't it have been someone else that rescued me after that bloody snake nearly killed me? Anybody else! But it was Granger, of course: the witch who interferes in everyone else's affairs. I gave Harry the memories he needed, and thought I would be allowed to die. But no – Little Miss Must-Save-Everyone comes along and works her clumsy amateur healing on me, stabilizing me until qualified care could arrive. Just what I needed – a muggle-born know-it-all with just enough knowledge of healing to be dangerous. I was too weakened from loss of blood to be my usual forceful self, and had to just lie there while she worked over me and – how humiliating – even cried over me. Only someone as overly sentimental as a Gryffindor would cry over a dying enemy. I was the Death Eater who killed Albus! I was the despised and feared Potions Master! "Don't leave me, Professor," she sobbed. I should have died anyway, to be spared the indignity of being indebted to Hermione Granger, and to make sure that for once in her life she didn't get everything she wanted.

And now… Now! Unless something can be done to vastly improve her mood, I will have to suffer more of the heavy sighs and weepy eyes while we are supposed to be working. Today was unbearable. I can't take any more of it. So here I am, sneaking around the castle at night, while she is out having a drink with Longbottom, of all people. Her door is locked, but not warded. She is so trusting – a trait common among foolhardy Gryffindors. A simple Alohomora gets me in. I retrieve two items from the pockets of my robes, and leave them on her nightstand. I cannot help but look around, though I know I must leave – it would ruin me to be caught here. She has pictures of Weasley and Potter – no surprises there. An overloaded bookshelf – again, no surprise. I want to read the spines of the books in her personal library, but her accursed feline is watching me too closely.

An anonymous gift should take her mind off of Potter and Weasley, and with any luck, she will quit whining about not being with them. I do it as a service to the entire school. She must never know it was my doing. She would certainly read all kinds of Deep Meaning into it, which would, of course, be completely off the mark. I don't care whether she is happy or not. My motives are entirely selfish: all I want is some peace and professionalism in my lab when I am forced to work with her. The ends justify these ridiculous means.

As I step out of her rooms, locking the door behind me, I hear them coming. Are they not aware of the hour? They are talking – and with slurred words, I notice – and laughing loudly, as they stumble up the hallway. Inconsiderate drunkards. People are trying to sleep.

I slip around a corner, and watch, unseen, as they stop in front of her door. They are standing very close together, arms around each other. She giggles like a schoolgirl as she unlocks the door. Ugh – she's not inviting the Witless Wonder into her bed, is she? I thought she had a thing for Weasley, the little slut! Oh, relief – she's not. They're saying goodnight, but they're still standing too close. Disgusting – it looked for a moment as if they might kiss. I cannot watch this repulsive display. I turn, and move stealthily toward the stairs, a lone dark figure, merging into the night.

* * *

**Part three: Hermione**

"Goodnight, Neville." I am holding him close.

"Goodnight, Hermione." He is holding me close.

"Thanks for coming out with me tonight. It was a pleasant way to spend my birthday." Damn, when did Neville get so tall? And… well, I have to admit he has become rather good-looking, too. All traces of baby-fat are gone. He's tall, and lean, and warm, and…currently very close to me.

"It was my pleasure, Hermione. Happy birthday." I watch his lips while he talks. They look soft. I wouldn't object to a little tiny birthday kiss – I don't like Neville that way, but I do like Neville and I do like kissing…

He leans down toward me, and my breath hitches a little in my chest. I close my eyes, tilt my head, part my lips.

Where's the kiss? I open my eyes again and we make eye contact, and both giggle. He's stopped, about an inch from my lips. It's hard to keep him in focus when he's this close.

"Hannah," he says, slightly apologetic. He's recently started seeing Hannah Abbot, I learned tonight. She's the new Transfiguration teacher, now that Minerva is busy with Headmistress duties.

"Ron," I say, and give a little shrug. Oh well, no kiss tonight. We giggle again. Whatever. It's fine. I'm too tired for kissing anyway.

He kisses me on the top of the head, instead – a very brotherly kiss. Such a gentleman. And then he weaves off down the hallway. He turns back at the corner to wave goodnight, and stumbles into a suit of armor, making a great clanging noise. I wave back and laugh before going in to my quarters.

I like Neville. He's gentle, thoughtful, funny (when he's drunk enough to relax around girls), smart (at least about plants), and… a good dancer. Madam Rosmerta had the wireless playing, and Neville and I drank a little too much of Ogden's Finest Old Firewhiskey, and he insisted that we dance in honor of my birthday. He twirled me around and around until I had to sit back down, dizzy and breathless.

When I step into my room, something seems different. What is it? I undress, and sit down on my bed. Aha – there is something different, and here it is. A journal, bound in blue jacquard silk, and a new eagle-feather quill. These things are not mine! Someone must have been in my quarters! Crookshanks, darling… Crooksie… Who was here, love? Damned cat. Why can't you speak? It would be dead useful to have a speaking cat for a pet. Wonder if there's a charm that can make cats speak. Must ask Professor Flitwick about that sometime. I mean Filius. Hard to remember which name to use, now that I'm 23 and all grown up and everything.

The journal is blue – Ravenclaw's color. And the quill is a feather from an eagle – Ravenclaw's symbol. A Ravenclaw must have been here! How very odd. Maybe Filius was here trying to make Crookshanks talk, and accidentally left his lovely blue journal… Oh – right, I haven't asked him about that yet. I'm never drinking again. I open the journal to the first page to see if there is a name inside.

Merlin – it's for me! It's a birthday gift, but I still don't know who gave it. It just says, "_Happy Birthday, Hermione._" Do I have a secret admirer? Damn, that's the most interesting thing that's happened in years! I'll figure out who it is. In the morning. I bet I can figure it out before lunchtime. Secret admirers always secretly want to be found out. So they leave clues. And I am really good at finding clues. Just ask that stupid basilisk! Well, except you'd need to be a parseltongue. And it's dead anyway, so never mind. But I figured out that mystery, and I'll figure out this one.

However, right now my pillow is looking very soft, and vertical isn't feeling so good. Suppose I could ask Poppy for a Sobering potion, but… she's probably sleeping and I don't want to wake her. I wonder if Severus is awake? He's probably got a Sobering potion handy. And he seems like a night person… Oh, but the dungeons are a long way from here. I'll just sleep it off, and deal with the inevitable hangover the muggle way: coffee and scrambled eggs. If I really feel awful I can ask Severus for something in the morning. As long as I don't threaten him with chocolate again, he probably wouldn't mind too much.

The room spins slightly as I shake my head to rid my thoughts of Severus. Ugh – must remember in the future that head-shaking is not a good idea after firewhiskey. But I don't want to think about Severus right now: I want to dream about my mysterious journal-giver, instead. I hope he's tall, dark, and handsome. And intelligent, of course, because that's the sexiest thing of all. Luckily, Ravenclaws do have a certain reputation in the brains department. Clasping the journal to my chest, I lie back on the bed, and close my eyes, inviting my subconscious to dream about a passionate, intellectual mystery man.

* * *

_A/N: So… I promised I'd write a Snapey story next, and here it comes. This one's going to be a bit trickier to write than my other two, as the character development will be more complicated, and the first-person present-tense style is a challenge for me. Do let me know what you think! If everybody hates the first-person present-tense approach (though I sincerely hope you would say it in a far gentler way if you did), it's early enough for me to revise & go with a more traditional style. I'm hoping this style will give the story some immediacy, plus I want to be able to give you direct access, so to speak, to what's going on in the main characters' heads. _

_Looking forward to your reviews, and to reconnecting with my favorite readers!_


	2. Chapter 2: Fright Night

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the characters or setting – those belong to JK Rowling, to whom I am eternally grateful for creating the Potterverse. I'm just taking a couple of her characters out for a spin, but promise to return them, only slightly the worse for wear.

_A/N 1: This story is AU in that Severus Snape did not die. A rather brainy brunette saved him after Nagini's attack in DH. As much as is possible, I'll make this canon-compliant, though I'm ignoring the epilogue._

_A/N 2: Special thanks to **Felena1971**, my trusty co-author/beta reader for her constant support and creativity on this chapter, as always. Thanks also to **Bmdohmen **for reading an early draft of this chapter, and for helping me come up with a reason why McGonagall might have a grudge against Severus. And lastly, thanks so much to the **anonymous reviewer **who suggested inserting an occasional bit of the story from the point of view of a character other than Hermione or Snape, to give a more or less objective view of their relationship. Great idea! You'll see I included two such interludes in this chapter._

* * *

Chapter 2: Fright Night

**Part one: Hermione**

Ha ha ha! Severus Snape looks simultaneously disgusted, horrified, and perplexed, as if he'd just been asked to breast-feed a flobberworm. It takes every ounce of will I possess to keep my reaction private. Inside, I am crying tears of mirth. Several members of the staff are not as successful at marshalling their self-control. When Severus speaks, I can tell he is trying to maintain his usual unflappable image, but I know him well enough now to hear the desperate plea hidden in his voice.

"I'm sorry, Minerva," he says in a low growl, "but I must not have heard you properly."

"I assure you, Severus, I spoke quite plainly." Minerva's good – she doesn't repeat herself, doesn't back down.

His voice dripping with contempt, he checks his understanding of the situation, clearly letting Minerva know how he feels. "You want _me_ to accompany dozens of adolescents on a – a _hay ride_ – and stay with them for hours as they wreak havoc in Hogsmeade?"

"Severus, I don't just WANT you to do this. I EXPECT you to do it. It is your responsibility as head of Slytherin. Naturally, I do not single you out. The head of each house will participate." She meets the eyes of each in turn: Filius from Ravenclaw, Hannah Abbot – the new head of Hufflepuff since Professor Sprout retired and Neville took her post, and Neville himself – the proud new head of Gryffindor, as Minerva's Headmistress duties preclude both teaching and head of house responsibilities. They each nod their understanding of the plan.

"As I was saying," she continues, with a warning glance at Severus, "Hagrid has arranged for two large wagons, each with a team of thestrals, to take the students from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade on Halloween night. The hayride will take those students third year and above with signed Hogsmeade permission slips, and will depart from our front steps right after dinner."

"Are there any special Halloween events planned in Hogsmeade that night?" asks Hannah, clearly excited about the fun. "Or will it be just like a regular Hogsmeade outing, but at night?"

"All of the shopkeepers and innkeepers are preparing for the additional patronage our hayride will bring them, and I daresay many will have something special planned in the spirit of holiday fun. The main event, however, besides the hayride itself, will be the pumpkin carving contest. Which is why, Hermione, I asked you to attend this staff meeting."

I have been wondering why I am here. I sit at the staff table at mealtimes, but that is merely a courtesy. I am not staff. I do not teach here, nor have any other official school role, though I sometimes assist Poppy in the Hospital Wing. My presence at my alma mater this year is strictly for my own benefit. I wanted to learn from Severus, and Poppy agreed to serve as my thesis advisor and to monitor and evaluate what I learn here. I am honored to be back at Hogwarts, and Minerva has been kind enough to extend to me most of the staff privileges – but this is my first staff meeting, and I am here by explicit invitation.

"How can I help, Minerva?"

"I need a judge for the contest. Earlier in the day, Hagrid will use the wagons to cart over four of his biggest pumpkins. Each house will get a pumpkin to carve and decorate in any way they like, but it is to be a house-wide, team activity. The house that creates the best jack o' lantern will win 150 points. As it is an inter-house competition, I cannot ask a head of house to be the judge."

I open my mouth to accept the job, but before anything can come out…

"And you ask HER?" Severus gives me a look of disdain, before turning back to the Headmistress. "Minerva, I must protest, so as to protect the interests of my own house. With 150 points as a prize, I must insist on a more… impartial judge. SHE is a Gryffindor through and through. Some of her old housemates are still students here, and will be on the carving team. How can you expect her to be objective?"

I am no longer laughing inside. Tears of mirth have turned to angry steam. "That is rich, Severus, coming from you! You, who always played favorites in your classroom, indulging Slytherin misbehavior and taking more house points from Gryffindor than from the other three houses combined!"

"Miss Granger," he says, and I note that he is no longer using my first name, and is now lecturing me as if I were 15 years old again, "I took no more points from Gryffindor than were required by the consistently poor performance, ill manners, and deviant behavior of you and your house mates."

His eyes are blazing. Some part of me knows it is pointless to argue with him about the past, but his illogic drives me to defend my position. "Has it occurred to you, Professor," I ask, with an extra helping of sarcasm as his title falls from my lips, "that the poor performance in Potions of most of my house mates was directly correlated to the level of bullying they suffered in your classroom? You evoked fear in them, and you appeared to have gotten cruel pleasure out of it!"

"Aren't Gryffindors known for being courageous? But when faced with an instructor with high academic expectations and a low tolerance for mischief and chatter, they fall to pieces, unable to perform? Some bravery. Godric Gryffindor would be so proud."

We are locked in combat, the tension between us as explosive as if we were two erumpents about to battle over a mate.

"That will be quite enough from the both of you!" Minerva's words are stern, but I hear something else in her tone. Amusement, perhaps, though I see nothing funny about the situation.

The interruption has called us back to our senses. I look around at the rest of the staff. Neville has gone red with embarrassment – he is certainly one of the students whose performance was impaired by Severus's tyrannical "teaching" style. Hannah's eyes are wide with alarm. The older members of the staff, however, show signs of trying to hide laughter. What is so funny, damn it? I am still steaming – not amused in the least.

"Since you are so concerned about fairness, Severus," Minerva says, the corners of her mouth obviously twitching now, "I hereby make you and Hermione co-judges of the contest. Judging will be at 10 o'clock, and the wagons will not return a single person to Hogwarts until the two of you have managed to agree upon a winner. Do the rest of you agree that Gryffindor will not get preferential treatment if Severus is a judge? And that Slytherin will not get preferential treatment if Hermione is a judge?"

Neville and Hannah nod again, looking from me to Severus and back, clearly concerned that the pumpkin-carving contest will never have a winner, and that they will spend the rest of their lives in Hogsmeade watching the two of us fight over 150 house points.

Filius actually chuckles aloud, and says, "Agreed, Minerva. And what an entertaining event this is likely to be!"

"Honestly," the Headmistress adds under her breath, as Severus and I continue to glare at each other, "how on earth do they manage to do any research together if they fight like that all the time?"

* * *

**Part two: Severus**

Obviously, Minerva seeks to give her old house an advantage in the contest by appointing Granger as judge. Well, I succeeded in foiling that plan, but at an intolerable cost – now I must judge this inane competition with Granger, and we must find some way to agree upon a winner. And the longer it takes us to reach an accord, the longer the miserable evening will last. Merlin, Minerva is a sadist. As if it isn't bad enough to be saddled with Granger three afternoons a week!

As we argued, I could see in Granger's eyes all the times I took points from her, Potter, or Weasley. All the times I refused to allow her to answer questions in class, no matter how desperately she pumped her greedy little hand in the air. I saw quite clearly how she feels about me. I have no doubt she knows precisely how I feel about her, as well. She is a right pain in the ass, and now I must spend more time in her unbearable company in order to give my own house the slightest chance of an objective outcome in this contest.

If the little shits put out anything less than a stellar effort, thereby making my sacrifice meaningless, I shall cancel Christmas for all of them.

The sound of chairs scraping the floor, along with the upward movement of bodies, signals that this fiasco of a staff meeting is over. Alas, I was too preoccupied to anticipate the ending, and missed my opportunity to make my usual speedy exit. I stand back from the scrum at the Staff Room door, as I have no desire to be in such close proximity to any of my colleagues. Granger is whispering conspiratorially with Poppy. No doubt they are talking about me. I take one step closer.

"So you still don't know?"

"No, Poppy, and it's really frustrating me. I had expected to solve this mystery the very next morning, but I'll admit I'm stumped."

"You haven't noticed anyone acting differently around you?"

"No, I haven't. I thought at first that it must be a Ravenclaw, because of the journal's color and the eagle feather, but no one from that house seems a likely candidate. I am starting to believe that the obvious Ravenclaw connections were intended to throw me off the scent of the gift-giver's true identity. Whoever it was, I don't think he wants to be found."

"Strange, since it was such a nice gift! You'd think he would want credit for it!"

"It was a very thoughtful gift, Poppy. I write in it every day, now. I almost feel it's become a friend, as I place in its care all my emotions."

Intriguing. They are in fact talking about me, though neither of them knows it. So, Granger shares all of her feelings with the journal, does she? Perhaps that is the reason she has seemed to be less emotionally volatile during the hours we spend working together, lately. This is a serendipitous side-effect: my only intent had been to stop her from whining over spending her birthday without her little friends, but apparently the journal is taking the brunt of her emotional states, so that she can focus better on our work.

I must gain access to that journal! Not that I want to read the minute details of her personal life, or anything – that's precisely the kind of information I want to be spared! Rather, I would like to be forewarned if she is particularly distraught on a day we are scheduled to meet. If I know ahead of time that she is likely to be distracted by emotion, I can cancel that afternoon's meeting, and spare myself her histrionics. I will have to think about this. Certainly there must be a way to use this situation to my advantage.

Reading the actual words in the journal is not necessary, nor is it ethical, nor even desirable. All I really need is some way to read her feelings before she gets to the dungeon. If she were to use a special ink, perhaps – one that I could secretly provide to her – that would change color to indicate mood… and then… Yes! It's genius! A mood-sensitive Color-Changing charm on her inkbottle, along with a Protean charm, would change the color of a matching bottle of ink that I would retain. I must get to work on this right away. The sooner I can get this advance warning system in place, the better. Then I can avoid her when she's in a towering rage like today, or a depressive state like at her birthday, and only spend time with her when she is rational, and actually able to focus her mind on the education she professes to seek.

Finally free of the jabbering crowd, I slip down to the dungeon to prepare. I will find an opportunity to place the bottle of enchanted ink in her quarters. A typical over-emotional Gryffindor, she will read romance into it: she will believe it is from a mysterious gift-giver who aims to woo her. Its true purpose is much more Slytherin in nature, of course. She will never suspect that it is a way for me to have better control over the quality of the time I must spend working with her. I will enjoy watching her make these mistakes. The know-it-all will, for once, know nothing.

* * *

**Part three: Hermione**

In the days since the staff meeting, there has been an uneasy – and unspoken – truce between Severus and me. We have gone about our work together as if the staff meeting and the argument never happened, except that we have avoided meeting each other's eyes. I am mortified to have lost control like that in front of Minerva and the rest of the staff.

In our work together thus far, Severus and I have been examining the finer points of potions that will be helpful to me in my work as a healer. The Death Eaters often beat and starved their captives, which made them less able to fight off Cruciatus and other interrogation techniques. The years since Voldemort's downfall have seen most former Death Eaters captured and imprisoned, but there are still a few at large that the Aurors are tracking. And, unfortunately, although Professor Trelawney claims to foresee a long period of peace, the truth is that another dark wizard could start gaining power at any time. Of course I was trained in the use of Skele-Grow, Blood-Replenishing Potions and Wound-Cleaning Potions during my basic Healer training program at St. Mungo's. But Severus wants me to understand the basic healing potions at the elemental level, so that I will be able to modify them if needed. He says the Death Eaters were creative in their methods of torture and the application of the Dark Arts, and a Healer hoping to specialize in Dark Arts Damage Reversal will need to be equally creative in the application of the Healing Arts. I am fortunate to be able to learn from the one man who has the most knowledge in this field. If only it were someone less infuriating!

The Halloween Feast is over, and the hayride awaits. Severus and I will spend almost this entire event together. Some of the students expressed concern about sabotage, so now – in addition to being co-judges – Severus and I must stay nearby to guard the pumpkins until the contest is over. If any student should attempt to modify any pumpkin not belonging to his own house, his house will be automatically disqualified and docked 100 house points. Minerva doesn't mess around. I appreciate her hard-line approach to making this competition fair, but the thought of spending so many hours with Severus does not thrill me. Perhaps if I can get him talking about healing potions, we won't argue too much.

Hannah and Neville grab the first wagon for Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. Neville, having gotten so tall, and gentlemanly as always, helps the students up into the hay-filled wagon. Then he helps Hannah up, and climbs in after her. I see him tuck her against his chest as the wagon pulls away, and she looks at him adoringly.

Meanwhile, Hagrid has been helping Slytherins and Ravenclaws into the second wagon. I have chosen to ride with them, rather than with my old house, to better show my impartiality as a judge for the pumpkin-carving contest.

The sun is setting behind the mountains, casting a fiery glow on the lake, and the temperature is beginning to drop. Steam rises from the nostrils of the Thestrals, which I can now see perfectly clearly, as I saw enough death in the war to last a lifetime. Before I went off hunting horcruxes with Harry and Ron, I had learned as much from books as I could about Healing. But it wasn't enough. I couldn't save Dobby, Fred, Remus, Tonks, Colin, or anyone else, even Vincent Crabbe. I helped Harry and Ron recover from some bad wounds along the way, but the only life I have ever saved is sitting right next to me. He has never thanked me, and I don't expect he ever will. I turn my gaze to Severus's profile. He and Filius are seated on either side of me, as the big wagon rumbles away from the front steps of Hogwarts.

The wagon sways over the rough ground as we head down to the main path to Hogsmeade. The students are enjoying the ride – talking excitedly, laughing, and shouting with glee every time we hit a rock or a hillock and they get thrown against one another. Filius and I are having fun, too, though I'm careful not to squash him when we all get tossed to that side. When we get tossed the other way, I practically land in Severus's lap, which makes him scowl. He sits ramrod straight, and silent, clutching the side of the wagon so hard his knuckles are standing out even whiter than his normally pale, slender fingers. The last big bump before we hit the well-worn walking path throws us all hard toward Filius again, and Severus loses his grip on the wagon. He crashes into my shoulder, and I am now trying to protect Filius from our combined weight. Severus rights himself immediately and glares at me as if it were my fault that he landed on me. Filius and I try, unsuccessfully, to hold in our laughter.

"Lighten up, Severus," I chide him. "There's no harm in having a little fun."

He glowers at me darkly, looking me up and down. "One more bump like that one, and I just might lose my dinner," he mutters.

It is unclear if he means that the movement of the wagon nauseates him, or if it is the prospect of landing on me again that sickens him. Grouchy git. Fine, let him be sullen and miserable. If I have to spend the evening hanging around four giant pumpkins and one irritable professor instead of visiting Honeydukes and Scrivenshaft's and Aberforth in the Hogs Head, I'll be damned if I'm going to let him spoil the hayride for me, too.

* * *

**Part four: Severus**

Apparently, I did something very, very wrong in a past life. Nothing else could explain this. Unless it is simply that Minerva McGonagall hates me. Perhaps she has never forgiven me for calling her an ugly cat in my first week at Hogwarts. How was I supposed to know that ugly cat could understand me, and worse yet, that it was my Transfiguration teacher?

For whatever reason – past-life transgressions or a false feline with a decades-old grudge – the pumpkin-carving contest is being held on the grassy area just south of the Shrieking Shack. Not only am I to spend the next several hours with Granger, but I will spend those hours with her in sight of the place where… where I almost died. Where I should have died. Could this night get any less comfortable?

She and I are standing a few feet apart, backs to the fence, with the Shrieking Shack behind us. We are watching the students work on their pumpkins. The Ravenclaws have drawn up a plan, and divided the pumpkin into quadrants, with a task force to work on each quadrant. The Hufflepuffs are taking turns, each student adding a modification and then getting approval before the next student's turn. The Gryffindors, of course, are the loudest group. There appears to be no method to their madness: spells are flying, they're all talking at once, and every now and then they burst into uproarious laughter. My own house has not yet done anything.

She sidles up to me, looking concerned. "Why aren't the Slytherins doing anything, Severus?"

I must admit I've had my concerns about that as well. I suspect they're just waiting to see what the other houses do before they start their work. That way they can take the best ideas from each house, modify them just enough to call them original ideas, and combine them into a prize-winning design. Of course, it could be that they would rather lie around on the grass making snide comments about the other teams instead of actually doing any work. I mean it: I will cancel Christmas for all Slytherins if they don't put in a reasonable effort.

"I expect they are analyzing the playing field, so they can focus their efforts most efficiently," I tell her.

"You mean they are going to copy what they other houses are doing? That's cheating!"

Sweet Merlin, here we go. "Typical Gryffindor. You get all hot about something before you've really thought it through. They are breaking no rules. And if they learn from what the other houses are doing, and then do something better based on what they have learned, that is not cheating – it's good strategy. It's Slytherin cunning at work."

She rolls her eyes at me, but does not respond. Surely she is not going to let me get the last word in this argument! This is the time to press my advantage, and pin her (figuratively speaking, of course) to the wall. I have had enough of her bashing my house, and will force her to confront her own inner-Slytherin.

I lean in close to her, speaking low into her ear, "You understand cunning, do you not, Miss Granger?"

She steps away from me, but looks into my eyes with trepidation. "Severus, I don't know what you are getting at. And can't you go back to calling me by my first name? When you call me 'Miss Granger' you make me feel like a first-year all over again."

"I was just thinking about your first year, Miss Granger." If it irritates her when I call her that, then I most certainly will continue to do it.

"Severus, how sentimental of you to be reminiscing about the year we first met."

Sarcasm. Now she's speaking my language.

"I was just thinking about how quickly the Sorting Hat must have put you in Gryffindor."

"Actually, Severus, it hesitated. It seriously considered placing me in Ravenclaw."

"Hmmmm…. And here I'd been thinking you could have fit well into my own house."

"Slytherin! Me?"

"You, Miss Granger." I have been stalking her – moving closer so slowly that she didn't notice the movement. We are now mere centimeters apart, and I am about to make her admit that she could have made a good Slytherin.

"The Sorting Hat would never have considered putting me in Slytherin, and I cannot imagine why you would suggest such a thing!"

"I am suggesting, Miss Granger, that while your worst personality traits are all Gryffindor, you do embody some Slytherin strengths."

"Severus, you have simultaneously offended me deeply and amused me. Let's get back to this business about my worst traits being Gryffindor in a moment. I absolutely must know what Slytherin strengths you supposedly see in me!"

She chuckles, deep and rich. Perhaps she thinks this is innocent banter. I move in for the kill.

"Was it not you who got past my potions puzzle on your way to save the Sorcerer's Stone? It took a shrewd mind to solve it – a mind, perhaps, not so unlike my own. Did you not immobilize Longbottom when he tried to stop you? Not very kind to do that to your friend, was it? But he stood in your way. Was it not you who devised the cunning communication method involving fake Galleons for Dumbledore's Army? Which, by the way, bears a slight resemblance to the way a certain now-deceased Dark Lord used to communicate with his followers? Was it not also your cunning that got Delores Umbridge out of the castle and molested by a giant and a herd of centaurs that same year? Are you not one of the most ambitious students ever to have darkened the door of Hogwarts? Need I go on?"

Her face becomes pale, the smug smile now lost, as the truth of my words is undeniable. She is forced to face within herself that which she despises. I have broken her. I have won.

* * *

**Part five: Hermione**

Damn him! I know I can be cunning and ambitious, and that in extreme situations I have occasionally let the means justify the ends. But if those are Slytherin strengths, I don't want them. My shadows still haunt me. He doesn't even know that I modified my parents' memories and sent them packing to Australia, and I hope he never finds out. That remains an open wound, and I certainly don't need Severus Snape rubbing salt into it.

I need to change the topic of conversation quickly, before I accidentally give him more evidence to support his argument. I really need to learn Occlumency, given all the time I will be spending with Severus this year. Sadly, he is the one person who could best teach me that skill, but I do not want to give him any opportunity to get that up-close-and-personal with my mind.

And what's with the way he was murmuring into my ear earlier, almost like a lover? Creepy. It made me shiver.

"Why, Severus," I start, but my voice shakes slightly. A deep breath steadies me. "I didn't realize you had been watching my career with such interest. However, the eye sees what the mind desires, and I believe you have been reading Slytherin motives into my actions on very little evidence. Your suggestion that I could have been a Slytherin says more about you than it does about me."

His customary sneer firmly in place, he straightens to his full height and looks down at me. "Don't flatter yourself, Miss Granger. It would be difficult for me to avoid following your career, as you consistently put yourself in the glare of publicity. You do make yourself rather impossible for me to ignore, despite my best efforts."

"Yes, you always did try to ignore me, Severus. I've never understood why you were so antagonistic to me from day one. Why you would ask a question in class and then refuse to let me answer it, when it was obvious I had the correct answer? Why have you always been so intent on pretending I don't exist?" I am trying like hell to sound angry and not hurt. But it did hurt my feelings. I was the best damned student in his class, and he refused to acknowledge that fact.

"Miss Granger, it was obvious to everyone that you had the correct answer, as you were incapable of showing any restraint – or, I might add, any respect for your classmates! You are the most self-centered student I have ever had the misfortune to teach!"

"Wha- what do you mean? In what way is it self-centered to try to contribute to the class?" I cannot believe he just called me that, and I cannot believe I haven't yet pulled out my wand and hexed him for it.

"Just try, Miss Granger, to put yourself in someone else's boots for a moment. Pretend you are any other student in my classroom, and that I actually let Miss Granger answer questions in class. Suppose that I have asked a question, and as usual, Miss Granger's hand shoots up in the air before I have even finished speaking. I call on her, and she of course has the correct answer. What is your reaction?"

"I- I don't know." Maybe I think that Hermione Granger is very smart and a very good student, and I am interested to hear what she has to say? Or maybe I think that Hermione Granger is a show-off and a know-it-all…

"Are you motivated to do the reading for class, knowing that Miss Granger will have all the answers?"

"Of course I am! How else will I learn, if I don't do the reading?" And how else would I compete with Miss Granger for points in class if I don't even read the book?

"You're thinking like your fellow bookworms, the Ravenclaws. What about the Hufflepuffs?"

"Of course they would do the reading. Hufflepuffs have a reputation for being very hard-working."

"Do most people enjoy getting recognition for their hard work?"

What a stupid question. "Of course they do, Severus. Where are you going with this?"

"Do the Hufflepuffs get any recognition for their hard work of reading their potions text, if Miss Granger is always the first with her hand in the air and eagerly answers all the questions I pose, as if she and I are alone in the classroom?"

"I suppose not. But they can always raise their hands, too." I would have loved to be alone in class with my professors, so that we could learn at my pace, and have more of a Socratic dialogue about the subject at hand. Not that I didn't love my friends, but a one-on-one learning experience is the best. I've been learning more from Severus in these past two months than I did in years of classes with my peers.

"Hmmmm, yes. And what of my Slytherins? Are they motivated to study?"

Ha! I doubt it! "No, Severus. YOUR Slytherins are probably motivated to sit back and watch the show, learning from Miss Granger's answers rather than doing the reading themselves. Just as your Slytherins now are motivated to sit back and watch the other houses working hard on their pumpkins, so they can steal ideas." I glance over at them. They are still sitting, although they seem to be almost as busy watching us talking by the fence as they are watching the other houses decorate pumpkins. I don't believe they can hear us from over there, at least.

"Precisely, Miss Granger."

"What?" Did he just say I was right about something?

"If I had let you talk in class the way you wanted to talk in class, the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs would have been unhappy, but they would still have learned. The Slytherin students, however, need the motivation of house points and attention or they would not have done any of the work themselves. It would not have been a wise use of their resources to pursue knowledge when there was no chance of getting any glory for their efforts. I might add that your fellow Gryffindors wouldn't have fared well in that scenario, either. Yours is not a house known for its intellectual prowess or dedication to studies. Certainly you noticed that you were an outsider among them, and that your friends wanted to benefit from your hard work by not doing the work themselves."

I have no response. I am speechless. Severus Snape actually gave a damn about motivating students to learn? And saw me as detrimental to his classroom environment! This doesn't fit. If he was so concerned about everyone having a chance to learn and shine, why the bloody hell did he bully some students – like Neville, for instance? I ought to sit in on one of his classes and see if he's just as cruel to this latest batch of students as he was to my year.

"But then," he continues, leaning back against the fence with a satisfied smirk on his face, "you never would have thought to put yourself in a Slytherin's place, would you? Until tonight, that is, since I have already established that you are ambitious and cunning."

"Lest you forget, Severus, Salazar Slytherin wouldn't have taken me into his house no matter how cunning or ambitious I might be. My heritage is not to his liking. Which reminds me, Severus… How is it that you, the Half-Blood Prince, got into Slytherin house?"

The best defense, after all, is a good offense. I seem to have hit a nerve with it, too. He is struggling to maintain his cool exterior, but I can see anger boiling behind his eyes.

"Oh, that's right," I say, in an innocent tone, "there were some other half-bloods in Slytherin house, weren't there? Tom Riddle, for instance? Didn't you both have witches for mothers, but Muggle fathers?"

Ouch! He has grabbed me rather hard by the upper arm and spun me so that we are once again standing toe to toe and face to face. He is making no effort now to hide his anger.

"Don't you compare me to the Dark Lord, Hermione! That bastard tried to kill me, or had you forgotten?" His voice is low and dangerous.

Shit! I hadn't exactly forgotten, but I'd gotten carried away with trying to make him feel as bad as he's made me feel tonight. I suppose I did cross a line. Strange that suddenly he's back to using my first name. I guess it's because he's thinking about the night I saved his life. It did create a rather intimate bond between us, even if neither of us ever mentions it. Now if I can just get him to let go of my arm… he's hurting me!

"Of course I haven't forgotten, Severus," I whisper. "I could never forget that night."

"I wish you could," he says, and his anger seems to dissipate. "I wish I could forget it, myself." He releases me, and casts his eyes toward the Shack, behind us. "You should have let me die."

"Why, Severus? Why would you say such a thing?" It breaks my heart to hear him say it. At least we are finally talking about that night, though.

"My work was done. I had fulfilled my destiny. Now that the war is over, I am finally free of my obligation to Dumbledore, and free of the damned Dark Mark, Dark Lord, and Death Eaters. But I find I have no purpose. I teach Potions to imbeciles. I don't even need to be alive for that: look at Binns. You should have left me to die, Hermione. I have outlived my usefulness."

Tears are threatening to run down my cheeks. I know Severus would hate that, and I try to blink them back. My throat is choked with emotion. "Severus," I say softly, putting a hand on his arm, "you have not outlived your usefulness, and I should not – could not – have let you die. Not while it was in my power to do anything to save you. You are a vital man, who should be enjoying his freedom and savoring life. Eat the chocolates, Severus. Enjoy the hayrides. Fall in love, for Merlin's sake, why don't you? You are finally free!"

He glares at me. The moment of vulnerability is over. I remove my hand from his arm, recoiling from his anger. "Just exactly what I would expect from you! Your Gryffindor weaknesses are showing, Miss Granger. Recklessness! Sentimentality!"

"Gryffindors are not reckless and sentimental! We are daring and passionate! These are strengths, Severus, not weaknesses. You just can't understand them! You would have had me leave you to die, because you are afraid to truly live!"

His eyes are blazing with heat. The air around us is crackling with electricity. He has grabbed me again – by both arms, this time. His face is very close to mine and he is livid. I can't believe I said that to him; he looks like he's ready to kill – Ohhhh! Sweet Merlin, his lips are on mine! His hands, my back, pulling me into him, crushing me, bruising me… Can't get away even if I want to... I do want to… I do… I… Ohhhh… Tighter. Heat. Lips, tongue, arms, chest… Heaven.

* * *

**Part six: Severus**

Afraid to truly live? Severus Snape is not afraid of anything! I, who spent years taking more risks than anyone in the wizarding fucking world, am NOT a coward! This brazen little brat thinks she can tell me how to live my life? She thinks I can't understand daring and passion? I am the most daring man she will ever meet! I grab her, and before I know what I'm doing, I'm kissing her, hard. I'll show the little witch passion…

At first she stiffens. I can feel her fear. Who's afraid now, witch? I am in control, and she will submit to me. And then… it is almost as though she melts in my arms. Gods, she… Her arms are around my neck, her body pressed into mine, her fingers in my hair, her… Ahhhh, her lips parting, her breathing ragged, her tongue… She fits into me perfectly. Her scent, her taste… I am lost.

* * *

**Part seven: Filius**

"Ahem!"

"Ahem!" I say again, louder this time, but still I get no response.

Merlin's Beard, look at the two of them snogging like a pair of sixth-years. Well, it's not like none of us saw this coming. The way they were arguing at the last staff meeting, they were either going to kill each other or kiss each other. Must say I'm pleased they picked the far less bloody of the options. Still, it's now several minutes past 10 o'clock, and they are supposed to be judging this contest, not licking each other's tonsils.

"Ahem!"

No response still. Ah well. I didn't want to do this, but…

"Aguamenti!" If they're going to act like dogs in heat, I will treat them as such.

They spring apart, soaking wet, looking around angrily – and guiltily. Hermione spots me first – she is several inches closer to my height. I tap my watch. She consults hers and realization hits.

"Severus," she says, breathlessly, "the contest! It's time!"

He won't meet anyone's eyes. I love this – the crusty Potions Master has a heart after all. I knew this was going to be an entertaining evening. I can't wait to tell Minerva when we get back to the castle.

"Of course," says Severus, smoothing his robes, which are – ha! – somewhat fuller in the front than usual!

"Filius, couldn't you have found another way to get our attention?" Hermione is blushing bright red, as she uses a Drying charm on them both.

"Hermione, dear, I did try," I tell her, and wink.

* * *

**Part eight: Hermione**

That did NOT just happen. Absolutely not. The students are watching us. Someone wolf-whistles, but I can't even tell which house it might have been. And since I'm not a Prefect anymore, I can't take points anyway.

Neville looks horrified, and Hannah looks ill. I feel rather ill, myself. I did NOT just snog Severus Snape. And I most certainly did not enjoy it.

Severus has already stalked off toward the pumpkins to examine the contest entries. I follow, several paces behind, and Hannah, Neville, and Filius trail along after me to watch. The students are giving us a wide berth, and I hear snickers from the crowd.

We approach the closest entry: Gryffindor. The Gryffindor creation is fantastic – literally, the stuff of fantasies. Through a combination of enlarging, shrinking, and cutting charms as well as various transfigurations, the Gryffindors have transformed their giant pumpkin into a representation of a fierce dragon – it even has smoke rolling out of its nostrils. Atop the dragon sits what is obviously intended to be Harry Potter, though the real-life Harry doesn't have shoulders quite that broad or pectoral muscles quite that defined. (I have, after all, seen the Chosen One shirtless on many occasions – there are benefits to being his best friend.) The pumpkin Harry figure wields a pumpkin sword (I assume it is Gryffindor's), brandishing it above his head. Closer inspection reveals a second human form, this one on the ground, being disemboweled by the dragon's claws: it is Voldemort, complete with snakelike eyes, slits for nostrils, and pumpkin guts spilling out onto the grass. Definite points for creativity, I note, and vivid use of pumpkin innards.

The Hufflepuffs have certainly outdone themselves with their model of Hogwarts castle. It is extremely detailed, down to the tiny owls (made of carved, enchanted pumpkin seeds) that flit around the owlery. The front door actually opens and I can see inside the Great Hall, with steps leading up toward the towers and down toward the dungeons. This entry does not show the creativity of the Gryffindor pumpkin, but it does win points for detail and accuracy.

Severus has already made his way to the third entry. I follow, still not meeting his eyes, nor getting any closer than four feet away from him.

* * *

**Part nine: Severus**

Tonight can't get much worse. First the Hogwarts to Hogsmeade Halloween Hayride from hell (and now I am apparently alliterating like Beedle the fucking Bard). Then fighting with Hermione Granger. Then, worse, much worse: kissing Hermione Granger! And now: a pumpkin Harry Potter in mythic proportions atop a pumpkin dragon. Kiss-arsing Hufflepuffs creating a working pumpkin replica of the school. What horrors await me with the final two entries? And then I must speak to Hermione Granger to come to an agreement about the winning house. I never want to speak to her again!

Oh worse still. The Ravenclaw pumpkin has been turned into an homage to the founders of Hogwarts. Each quadrant has been turned into a face. Salazar Slytherin to the south (and I must admit it is a good likeness), and Godric Gryffindor to the north, while Helga Hufflepuff and Rowena Ravenclaw (complete with the missing diadem) face east and west respectively. The faces are sculpted in painstaking detail and are quite realistic. This entry does show artistic ability, but none of the special effects seen in the first two entries (such as smoking dragons and flitting owls).

As I approach the Slytherin entry, I can feel my blood slowly coming to a boil. It looks as though they have done nothing to the pumpkin! Yet the students look excited. They are all gathered on the far side of the pumpkin. I stride over, followed closely by Granger and the other three heads of house. We circle the pumpkin, and I find that the far side has indeed been modified. I can't quite make out the image from this close, so I step back to get a wider view.

Someone, anyone, please kill me right now. You can use my wand. You know the curse…

As soon as I am able to speak, I will indeed cancel Christmas. My own house has turned against me, and it is all Granger's fault.

"Sweet Mother of Merlin," Granger moans behind me. "It's… it's…."

"It's a bas relief sculpture of Hermione and Snape, kissing," groans Longbottom, and he makes a slight retching noise behind me.

For once, I couldn't agree with him more.

* * *

**Part ten: Hannah**

Halloween at Hogsmeade is over, and I must say that while I am thrilled that Severus and Hermione saw fit to award the 150 points from the pumpkin-carving contest to my house, I am deeply disturbed to have seen them snogging passionately over by the Shrieking Shack. It's very strange: when we first arrived on the scene, it certainly looked as if they were enjoying themselves. But ever since Filius broke them apart by way of the Aguamenti charm, they've been acting as though they are afraid of each other.

Hermione, in fact, has joined me and Neville and the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs in our wagon for the return ride. She looks shell-shocked, and hasn't spoken a word since the winner was announced. I wonder if we ought to bring her to Poppy when we get back to school? He must have Confunded her. Or Imperiused her. Or something! Why else would anyone kiss Severus Snape?

Thank goodness I have Neville. No need for any curses or charms to make a girl want to kiss him! I lean into him, stroke his arm, and kiss his cheek. It shakes him out of a reverie, and he captures my lips in a warm kiss.

"Thanks, Sweetheart," he whispers to me. "I needed that. I'm rather afraid I'm going to have nightmares about… them. Any chance you could slip over to my quarters and keep me company tonight?"

"You've got it, Love," I whisper back, and do a mental Happy Dance. I get to sleep with Neville again tonight! Perhaps I can get Hermione and Severus to snog in front of Neville all the time, if it makes him invite me over!

* * *

_A/N: Whew! It took a LONG time to write this chapter. I threw in a little smooching to pacify you, and to repay you for your patience. Thanks so much for all the reviews of Chapter 1! Please let me know how you liked Chapter 2._

_Lastly, I am **thrilled beyond belief **to let you know that my longer fic "Hermione Granger and the Sleepless Nights" was **nominated for a few Quill to Parchment awards** (best multiple partner, best mid-length fic, and best Trio era) and my one-shot "HBM" has also been nominated in several categories (best male slash, best humor fic, best one-shot, and best Marauder era). **If you read and liked either of those stories**, please go to **awards dot quilltoparchment dot com slash vote dot html** to vote! **Thanks for your support!**_


	3. Chapter 3: Fall Colors

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the characters or setting – those belong to JK Rowling, to whom I am eternally grateful for creating the Potterverse. I'm just taking a couple of her characters out for a spin, but promise to return them, only slightly the worse for wear.

_A/N 1: This story is AU in that Severus Snape did not die. A rather brainy brunette saved him after Nagini's attack in DH. As much as is possible, I'll make this canon-compliant, though I'm ignoring the epilogue._

_A/N 2: Special thanks, as always, to Felena1971, my trusty co-author/beta reader for her constant support and creativity._

**Chapter 3: Fall Colors**

* * *

**Part one: Severus**

Of course, word of my indiscretion has spread quickly. Minerva has called me to her office, and I have no doubt what she wants to talk about.

"Golden snitch," I grumble to the gargoyle, and it leaps aside to let me in. Minerva is more keenly interested in Quidditch than is entirely proper for a witch of her age.

"Do sit, Severus," she invites me, once I arrive in her office. "Ginger newt?"

I shake my head and sit, arms crossed over my chest. She eyes me shrewdly.

"Yes, Minerva? I am a busy man, and I assume you did not invite me here just to offer me a snack." Get to the point, woman!

"Severus," she says, not unkindly, "Tell me what's going on with you and Hermione."

Behind her, Albus shifts in his frame. He appears to be asleep, but if I know the barmy old codger at all, he's listening intently.

"With all due respect, Minerva, I'm not sure that it's any of your business." Besides, how can I possibly tell her what's going on with me and Hermione, when I don't even know, myself?

She raises her eyebrows at me, but is undaunted. "I agree," she says, "that since she is no longer a student at Hogwarts, there is no impropriety in the two of you dating, but –"

"Dating?" I splutter, in a most undignified manner. (Albus has abandoned all pretense, and is now visibly awake, eyes wide.) "Minerva, we are not 'dating'! It was one kiss! One horribly misguided kiss!" (Albus gives me a grin and a wink.) I attempt to set my face again into its traditional expressionless mask, though the damage is done. My private affairs are now on the table, so to speak. Not that I am having an affair with Hermione, private or otherwise, on the table or anywhere else. It is merely a figure of speech.

"According to my many sources, Severus, I believe you are deliberately downplaying the event. I heard it was a bit more than one kiss. In fact, I heard that for several minutes it was impossible to tell where one of you stopped and the other began." She smirks, and Albus puts his palm on his face in a cartoon gesture of amused shock.

I open my mouth to protest, but nothing comes out.

"Regardless, Severus, it was a kiss that was witnessed by a large number of your students – and I daresay the rest will certainly have heard about it by now. I thought you might need to talk things over a bit before you are back in the classroom as their professor."

"No, thank you, Minerva," I tell her, as though I have everything perfectly well in hand. In truth, I am dreading facing the little monsters. I shall have to be at my most forbidding, take house points liberally, and threaten detentions. They will quickly learn to fear me again.

"That's fine, Severus. But please do keep in mind that you may come to me anytime if you need me." It's exactly what Albus would have said, were he still Headmaster. He smiles down at her proudly. "In the meantime, although you and Hermione may not have broken any school rules, Poppy is concerned for the integrity of Hermione's certification program. She would like to see you both in her office at four o'clock today."

I groan involuntarily. If there's one thing I want to do even less than talking things out with Minerva, it's talking things out with Hermione!

Albus shrugs, empathetically, as if to say, "What's a wizard to do?" I roll my eyes at him.

"Thank you, Minerva," I say, and take my leave.

As I descend the spiral moving staircase, I check my timepiece. Nearly an hour remains before I must be in Poppy's office for what promises to be a terribly uncomfortable meeting. My own quarters will be the best place to unwind in the interim. As I continue downward toward the dungeons, my fingers curl around the inkbottle in my pocket. Hermione and I have not seen each other since the end of the pumpkin-carving contest last night, but I have, thanks to this little item, had some insight into her frame of mind. I had managed to slip the bottle into her room just before we all left for Hogsmeade, and she put it to use almost immediately upon her return.

After Hagrid's wagon returned us to the castle last night (and it was a particularly miserable hayride, with snickering brats and a smug-looking Filius), I went straight to my quarters and poured myself a glass of elf-made wine. I could not stop thinking about what had happened – how I had lost control, and how she had responded in such an unexpected way. Had anyone ever asked me what Hermione Granger would do if I were to grab her and kiss her, I would have bet galleons that she would smack me quite firmly across the face. But instead… she seemed to welcome the contact, at least after the initial shock wore off. It didn't make any sense at all – the girl detests me. So when I noticed that the ink in the twin bottle I had left on my own desk was changing colors, I was intrigued. She had found the gift inkbottle and started to use it. Incredibly, she wrote last night for over two hours! She has, indeed, become quite dependent upon that journal…

The ink in my bottle – and hers – started off red… Anger. Yes, that made sense. She was clearly angry before I grabbed her, and I could certainly imagine that my actions riled her further. Very quickly, however, the ink changed to orange – embarrassment. Again, this reaction made sense to me. I was quite embarrassed myself by the pumpkin carved by my own house (I'll deal with them soon enough!) and by the smirk on the face of Filius fucking Flitwick. I downed the rest of my wine, and disrobed for the night. But the inkbottle was still warm and orange – the girl was still writing.

Curious, I took the inkbottle to bed with me. By the light of the torches, I could see the color of the ink darkening. It settled into a murky brown, as if several colors had been mixed: confusion. Perhaps she was as confused about me as I found myself about her. Why would a girl who despises me melt into my arms the way she did? Reach her hands up into my hair and pull me deeper into the kiss, moaning slightly against my lips, and pressing her body into mine? Against my will, I found my body responding to the memory. If I ignored the response, I hoped, the problem would go away. It would be utterly wrong to indulge these baser instincts with Hermione Granger on my mind. I lay as still as possible so the silky fabric would not slide against sensitive flesh and make matters worse.

She must be just as puzzled by the incident… Our relationship has been almost exclusively antagonistic. The animosity has dulled lately into what has been a strictly professional arrangement as we have worked together this year. But never have I given her any indication that I want anything remotely resembling romance, or even friendship. So why, then, she must be wondering, did I suddenly kiss her?

She goaded me into it, of course. She called me cowardly, and said I could not understand daring and passion. But why did I respond to her accusation by… by grabbing her in that way? Why in the name of Salazar Slytherin did I feel compelled to do something so – oh, I can't even bear to have the words form in my mind – so damned Gryffindor? My house is known for our cool control. For strategy. For analyzing a situation and playing it to our advantage. HER house is the one for impulsive idiots who grab others and kiss them passionately in public places! Perhaps working with her three afternoons a week is too much, and some of her less attractive Gryffindor traits are rubbing off onto me. The sooner her work with me is finished, the better.

The ink stayed brown for a long time last night. I had almost nodded off to sleep, and was about to extinguish my torches, when I noticed that the ink color had changed yet again. Purple. Passion. Ha – she must have given up thinking about me and turned her thoughts to the mystery gift-giver. I still find it amusing that she imagines there is some shadowy figure leaving her love-tokens. Although I certainly do not plan to tell her, ever, that the "gifts" have come from me, I take great pleasure in imagining her crestfallen face were she to discover that she did not have a lover, and that it was I who left those items, in order to manipulate our time spent together. How entertaining to think of her upstairs in her quarters thinking lustful thoughts about a person who doesn't exist. Sighing deeply, wishing he were there to kiss and stroke her, and bed her properly. Revoltingly, this line of thinking caused my earlier problem to reoccur. It took a long time after that for me to get to sleep.

When sleep did finally claim me, the inkbottle was still warm and purple in my hand. In the morning, I found it near my pillow: cold, and back to its neutral black color. Something else had happened in the night as well, and I needed to scourgify my bedclothes in the morning as though I were some horny third-year. How I loathe third-years. And they only get worse from there. What a disgusting beginning to what is sure to turn out to be a ghastly day.

Turning the inkbottle over and over inside my pocket as I return from the Headmistress's office, I feel it grow warm again just as I reach my quarters. What more could the girl possibly have to write, after spending so long with the journal last night? She has too much free time on her hands. She must need more research to keep her occupied; I shall have to assign her more work. I slide down into my most comfortable armchair. When I pull the bottle from my robes, the ink has turned saffron yellow – the color of fear. Hmph – she must be afraid to face me after the way she behaved. That is good. Fear makes her weak, and I will have the upper hand, as always. I check myself in the mirror to make sure I am at my most imposing. With the addition of my well-practiced scowl, I ought to be able to make her shiver with dread.

But when I return to my armchair and the side table where I left the inkbottle, I see the worst: blue. She is pouring her sadness into the journal. I can only hope she gets it all out on paper before our meeting which is now in only… ugh… twenty-five minutes. That's all I need – a tearful Hermione Granger on my hands. What the hell is she so sad about, anyway? Did imaginary-lover-boy not meet her overblown romantic expectations?

* * *

**Part two: Hermione**

"Biscuit?"

"No thanks," I say. I'm too nervous to eat anything.

In my peripheral vision, I see Severus turn down a biscuit with a shake of his head. I don't want to meet his eyes.

Poppy takes a biscuit herself, and munches on it thoughtfully, looking from Severus to me, and back again. The only sound in the room is her chewing, and it's grating on my already-frayed nerves. I'm exhausted. I didn't sleep well last night at all.

Hannah and Neville had offered to take me to Poppy when we got back to the castle, because I was so shaken by what happened between me and Severus in front of the Shrieking Shack. Though I turned them down, I probably should have accepted their offer, and asked Poppy for a Dreamless Sleep Potion. But no – instead, I went to my quarters, my mind spinning. I couldn't wait to write in my journal and try to sort out my feelings. And there it was…

On top of the journal was a new bottle of ink, with a note attached. _Use me_, it said. So I opened it up, dipped in my eagle-feather quill, and began to write. I had been thinking about Severus all the way back to the castle. He could be so infuriating! If he had a good reason for not calling on me in class, then why didn't he just say so in first year, and saved me years of hurt feelings? I would have understood. He has always underestimated me. As he underestimates all Gryffindors! Imagine – calling us reckless and sentimental. He irritates me no end! And such nerve he has, anyway, discounting us for being emotional, when he has no capacity for it himself. Why I ever bothered to save his useless life in the first place, when he won't even live it… What a waste. It makes me so angry that he hides away in the dungeon and refuses to embrace life. As I wrote, I noticed that the ink had turned bright red. I didn't think too much about it, until the next moment, it turned orange!

And then, in response to my challenge, Severus did embrace life… or at least he embraced me. What a shock – I didn't see it coming at all. I am humiliated that I responded the way I did. How embarrassing to have asked for more, more, more (not with words, of course, but with my actions), as if I had been craving his touch. I imagined him in the dungeon laughing at me. He knows I have been dating Ron forever – does he now think that I don't have a gratifying sexual relationship with Ron, and that I am seeking satisfaction wherever I can find it? What a mortifying thought.

But then, it is sort of true – I mean, not the part about seeking satisfaction anywhere, but the part about Ron. It's so confusing to love him as I do, to be so much a part of each other's lives, and yet to be – I don't want to say it, even to myself – unfulfilled. And it is just as confusing to have found myself feeling so physically alive when Severus kissed me! I don't love Severus. I have never thought of him in sexual or romantic terms. Yet – I was undeniably turned on by his passionate embrace. My knees went weak, my heart beat wildly against my ribs… But Ron is the one I love! And when he kisses me… Oh, it's the most perplexing thing! When Ron kisses me, I admitted to my journal – but would never say the words aloud – my mind tends to wander, more often than not to my work, but sometimes to food (if I'm hungry), or to what the others are doing, and whether I'm missing anything fun with Harry, Ginny, or George. The ink had turned brown, as if reflecting the swirling, muddy confusion of my thoughts.

So, I asked my journal (as if it could answer!), what was it that made me react so strongly and (I shuddered with revulsion) so passionately to Severus's kiss? Why the weak knees and wildly beating heart? If it's not love – and obviously it's not! – then, it must be… lust? No! I don't lust after Severus, what a hideous thought! Maybe it wasn't Severus himself that made me feel that way, but merely the physical experience of being kissed that way, which any man could do, even perhaps Ron, with a bit of training…

Severus had grabbed me roughly, pulled me to him forcefully, planted his lips on mine with almost bruising force. Do I secretly desire this cave-man behavior? Some part of me must, because as I wrote about it, I could feel myself getting damp. Oh, Merlin, I wrote in horror, Severus Snape makes me soak my knickers? No – no… Not him! He can be so… cruel. Could that be part of the attraction? Of course not, I answered myself, in what had become a deep purple ink. I do not desire a cruel lover. But… though he is frequently cruel the classroom, he was not cruel when he kissed me. He was passionate, possessive, hungry, as if he couldn't get enough of me. And I… I must have lost my mind entirely, because suddenly I couldn't get enough of him. When my fingers laced into his hair, I thrilled at how soft and silky it was. When my lips parted for him, I wanted to devour him and be devoured by him. When I pressed my body into his I felt his arousal and my own and I shuddered with need. I think I would have let him take me right there: I had completely forgotten where I was, or that there were students watching us, or that I was supposed to dislike the powerful, sexy wizard in my arms. If Filius hadn't watered us down, in fact, I might have spontaneously combusted – the kiss was so heated, the passion so fiery.

The more I admitted to my journal about how I felt last night, the more aroused I found myself getting. I finally closed the journal, and placed it and my new inkbottle and quill on the bedside table. I shucked off my clothing, pulled on my nightgown, and crawled, shaking, into bed. I couldn't sleep – Severus kept invading my thoughts, undressing me with his smoldering eyes, kissing me passionately again, stroking me with his slender and nimble fingers… and more. I was so worked up that I tossed and turned for what seemed like ages, until… well, I finally found some release.

I hadn't kissed anyone but Ron since the Battle of Hogwarts… until last night. And I certainly hadn't… well, my fantasies last night have left me feeling unspeakably guilty, as though I cheated on Ron. And not even just with some random man, but with – ugh! – his old nemesis, the only man he hated worse than Draco Malfoy! I mean, we've all had to revise our opinions of the man since his true role became known, but Harry is really the only one who I can say has actually befriended him, even after all these years. I tolerate him, because he's brilliant and I want to learn from him. But Ron… Ron still distrusts and detests him. I am a horrible, awful woman. Why can I not feel that hot, fiery passion for Ron, who I love, and instead find myself with my knickers in a twist over – blech, it's just too appalling for words – Severus Snape?

And now, I cannot look at Severus. He is sitting about three feet from me, and – damn! – my nerve endings are all at attention, as if they want his touch again! I shiver, involuntarily. This is so bad… and so wrong. I am experiencing some deviant physical reaction to him, but I absolutely do not like him. And I know he doesn't like me much, either. This will go no further. I will go to the library immediately following this meeting and find any and all resources about Occlumency to see if it is something I can learn myself. And I must learn to control my body so that he does not have this effect on me – quickly, as our next study session is tomorrow afternoon!

Poppy brushes the biscuit crumbs off her fingers, and leans forward in her seat, looking very concerned. "You know I should report your behavior to the St. Mungo's Advanced Healer Training Coordinator. I don't think he would be thrilled to hear what I have heard from a number of eyewitnesses. But I wanted to speak with both of you first. Tell me, do you feel your working relationship has been compromised?"

Oh, it's exactly as I had feared. When I got the summons to come to Poppy's office today for a joint meeting with her and Severus, I knew she was considering ending my training with him! I was so worried that I pulled out my journal again, and wrote a bit more. The strange ink turned a dark yellowish color. What would become of my training program if that one kiss ended my work with Severus? How could I possibly learn as much from anyone else as I can learn from him? I dreaded the idea of losing this incredible educational opportunity. Would I have to give up my dream of specializing in Dark Arts Damage Reversal? And then, I realized in a moment of panic, would I have to marry Ron, because I would no longer have a reason to delay?

As I saw what I had written about Ron, my heart grew heavy. Marrying Ron will be a good thing, and I mustn't think those kinds of thoughts. But things would be so different – marrying Ron, working at St. Mungo's on the regular healing wards, no longer seeing Severus during the week to discuss important concepts and learn fascinating things… If this meeting goes poorly, I wrote, I will be quite depressed. The ink, as if sympathizing with me, turned a deep blue – sorrows as deep as the ocean itself.

I know I do not want my working relationship with Severus to end. No matter how uncomfortable things might be, I will find a way to struggle through them. I will learn Occlumency on my own. I will keep my desires to myself. (Why my traitorous body wants this maddening, exasperating, brutal man anyway is beyond me. Certainly I can squash such illogical feelings.)

"No, Poppy," I tell her decisively. "I do not believe our working relationship has been compromised. What happened was a mistake, and it will not happen again." My eyes are trained on Poppy, and I can feel, rather than see, Severus turn his head toward me. I close my eyes, and for a moment I think I must be channeling Mad-Eye Moody. It is as if I can see Severus clearly even with my eyes closed. His jaw has dropped open for the merest second, before he closes it, sets his face back to its usual impenetrable expression, and turns to Poppy.

* * *

**Part three: Severus**

How can she calmly inform Poppy that it was a mistake, and won't happen again? She was so angry with me last night, and so embarrassed and confused about what happened that I was certain she would blame me, as I was the aggressor, and claim that she was unsure she could continue to work with me. She had an opportunity here to publicly denounce me – to get back at me for treating her and her friends the way I did – and she did not take it. She could easily have painted me as the big, bad, older, predatory male who took advantage of her youth and innocence. What is she playing at?

Hermione is watching her shoes, while Poppy is watching me. They are both waiting for my answer to the question that is still hanging in the air.

I consider my options, as any good Slytherin would.

Option one: I agree with Hermione, and save some face, but am forced to continue working with the maddening witch for the rest of the year.

Option two: I disagree with Hermione, which saves me from working with her, but which requires me to say that I did intend to kiss her, that it wasn't meaningless, and that it could happen again.

Obviously, there is no question which option I must choose, though it damns me to spending further time with Hermione, and that promises to be an extremely frustrating experience. In more ways than one.

"I concur," I tell them. If I must agree with a Gryffindor, I will do it in as few words as possible.

She looks at me, just for a moment, and I can see the relief in her eyes. But in a flash, her eyes are back to the floor, and her cheeks are flushed. She is obviously relieved to hear that the kiss meant nothing to me. I see now. She was not playing at anything – she was telling the truth, and she does think it was all a mistake.

Poppy eyes us both again, somewhat suspiciously. "Fine," she says. "I will not report you at this time. But I insist on meeting with you both – separately – once each week, so that I can keep tabs on any issues that arise. Severus, I will expect you at 4pm every Tuesday afternoon. Hermione, I will see you at the same time on Thursdays. You are both excused."

I rise, looking contemptuous – I don't even have to try, as I cannot stand the idea of meeting with Poppy weekly to discuss anything, particularly anything as touchy-feely as how I am getting along with Hermione. Hmph. Even though I am condemned to continuing our thrice-weekly afternoon sessions, no one says I have to make them pleasant for Hermione. In fact, it sounds as if Poppy would prefer our sessions NOT be pleasant.

Hermione has also risen, and is dashing for the door. I am closer, and reach it first. I hold it open for her, and we exit together.

As the door closes behind us, I bend my head toward her ear. "I see I am still shackled with you," I tell her. "Am I to understand that you want to resume our work together, and never speak of last night's _incident_ again?"

She turns to me, her eyes rimmed with red. "That's right, you haven't got rid of me yet, Severus Snape. And if you think you can scare me off with one kiss, you've got another think coming. I can take whatever you can dish out, no matter how humiliating!"

We are strolling down the hallway together, away from Poppy's office. "Humiliating! I should think it could only do your reputation some good to be seen with someone like me, as opposed to that child you have been seeing for so long, but have not yet seen fit to marry."

"That was a low blow, Severus," she says, and she swipes at her eyes with the sleeve of her robes. I have hit a nerve with that attack. "I detest you. I loathe you. You aren't good enough to lick Ron's boots. He's a good man, and you're… you're… you're an obnoxious, insufferable git!"

"If I am so loathsome, Hermione, why did you ever insist on working with me this year in the first place?" It has been a mystery to me.

Suddenly, she is no longer next to me. I turn around, to find that she stopped walking a few paces back and is just staring at me, incredulously.

"Severus," she says earnestly, "I insisted on working with you because you are the best. You, more than anyone, have incredible insight into Dark Arts and how to combat them. You are the one who put Draco back together after the Sectumsempra nearly killed him. You are the one who kept the curse contained to Dumbledore's hand for so long, buying him enough time to help Harry learn what he needed to do. I never considered anyone else. It was you, or no one."

"But…" I say, brilliantly.

"Severus Snape, you are the only person I would trust to teach me about the Dark Arts."

She wants me to reach back into my dark past, and teach her about the terrors I have experienced first hand, the horrors I have witnessed. She wants me to carry her into that darkness with me. And she trusts me to bring her safely out again. Why does she trust me at all? I proved last night, yet again, that I am not to be trusted.

I watch her carefully, and she immediately drops her gaze to the floor. "Be careful where you place your trust, Hermione. I would think that even a Gryffindor would have learned that lesson, after your many misadventures." I turn on my heel and sweep toward the stairs, leaving her standing still, mouth agape.

Does she know what she is asking of me? Though I know I can never be rid of that part of my past, I have succeeded in burying it deep. I would much prefer to leave it there, undisturbed. But I cannot refuse her. We will make this dark journey together.

* * *

_A/N: Eep – I'm having a hard time with this story. Thank Merlin I have Felena1971 to keep me on track and to keep the characters in character. And… Poor Ron! I don't mean to make him out as a bad kisser or a bad lover, but just… you know, they're really better as friends, don't you think? A childhood crush. Hermione needs a man – older, experienced, and a match for her intellect. I can't wait to get them together – you know it's gonna happen – but Felena1971 holds the reins and is helping me slow it down so that the transitions will be more believable. I'm working hard to make sure it's worth the wait – for Hermione & Severus, of course, but for us as well. Your thoughts?_


	4. Chapter 4: Fallout

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the characters or setting – those belong to JK Rowling, to whom I am eternally grateful for creating the Potterverse. I'm just taking a couple of her characters out for a spin, but promise to return them, only slightly the worse for wear.

_A/N 1: This story is AU in that Severus Snape did not die. A rather brainy brunette saved him after Nagini's attack in DH. As much as is possible, I'll make this canon-compliant, though I'm ignoring the epilogue._

_A/N 2: Special thanks, as always, to Felena1971, my trusty co-author/beta reader for her constant support and creativity._

**Chapter 4: Fallout**

* * *

**Part one: Hermione**

"Hermione, I may be forced to exchange seats with someone farther away from you, so that your avian entourage won't trample in my porridge." Severus scowls, and makes shooing motions. The owls stare at him haughtily, not moving.

I do have more than the usual number of owls making deliveries this morning. My usual number is only one – the owl who brings my morning paper. But this morning there are… three, four, FIVE owls crowded around my plate! I haven't had this many deliveries at once in years! We all used to get quite a bit of fan mail in the early days after the war. Harry, of course, still gets a fair bit, though even his did drop off considerably after he and Ginny married.

I collect my Daily Prophet and four letters (Merlin – in one day!) and thank the owls. They fly off, and Severus looks somewhat appeased. Four letters! Setting aside the newspaper, I slit open the first roll of parchment and read.

_Dear Hermione,_

_A funny thing happened yesterday… I ran into Draco Malfoy at the Ministry, and he said that Pansy Parkinson said her little brother Paul saw you kissing Snape on Halloween! Isn't that hilarious? I know he was just saying that to make me angry, because you would never do that. Right? Draco is such a git. Did you hear he's engaged to Daphne Greengrass's little sister? I can't believe anyone would marry that ferret! Speaking of which… Maybe we could pick a date soon, so we could make the announcement over Christmas Dinner at the Burrow? Think about it._

_Love,_

_Ron_

Bloody hell. I should have expected this.

Another owl lands slightly to my right, and Severus glares at me. I reach for the letter she has dropped on the table, but she pecks my knuckle.

"Severus," I tell him, "this one's for you!" He stares at me as though I had just announced my engagement to the giant squid.

"It's from Harry," he says, opening it.

"I've got one from him, too," I say, opening mine.

_Dear Hermione,_

_The Keeper for the Harpies has a daughter at Hogwarts. The daughter told her that you and Severus Snape were snogging each other to within an inch of your lives in front of the Shrieking Shack at Halloween, and she passed the news to Ginny last night. Ron heard the same thing from Malfoy, but doesn't believe it. (Consider the source, after all.) But Ginny's teammate has no reason to lie to her. Would you care to tell me what's going on? Because if Ron goes ballistic, it'll be me and Gin that have to keep him from blowing up everything in sight. Hope to hear from you soon, because if the story is true, the lid's going to blow off this cauldron pretty quickly._

_Love,_

_Harry_

How I wish I knew what Harry had written to Severus! But the expression on the Potion Master's face is – characteristically – unreadable. This is, after all, the man who kept Voldemort out of his mind for almost two decades. He rolls his parchment back up, tucks it into his robes, and looks pointedly at my remaining two letters. I open letter number three.

_Oi, Granger!_

_What's this I hear about you snogging the Snape? Ginny said she has it on good authority you had your tongue crammed down the slimy git's throat! I have to say, I'm dismayed. I always thought that if you ever left Ron, you and I could have a SCORCHING affair. Or, if Angelina wouldn't mind, perhaps a threesome. But I refuse to invite Snape in to make it a foursome, OK?_

_Seriously, girl, when Mum heard, she nearly had kittens, and threatened to send you a Howler. I've talked her out of it for now. You know she loves you like a daughter. But you don't want to make Molly Weasley mad. Trust me, I know of what I speak._

_Cheers,_

_George_

_p.s. Snape?? Has the stress of post-graduate education finally made you crack up?_

George has been joking about a scorching affair with me for ages. Usually it makes me laugh, but this morning, George's letter just makes me want to bang my head on the heavy wooden staff table.

One more letter to go. I take a deep breath, brace myself, and unroll the parchment.

_Dearest Hermione,_

_Ginny told me what happened! You must not be wearing the brooch I gave you at Christmas last year. I told you it was charmed to keep away Wrackspurts! You should always wear it for protection. I'm assuming a Wrackspurt got you, because the only reason I can imagine that you would be kissing Professor Snape is if a Wrackspurt made your brain all fuzzy. I mean, not that he isn't rather sexy in a sort of dark, brooding kind of way, but… I didn't think you liked him like that. If you come by my apartment next weekend, I'll be able to get the Wrackspurt out of you with a special tea Daddy invented. Until then, maybe you could just stay away from Professor Snape as much as possible?_

_Love,_

_Luna_

I love Luna. No matter how upset I am, she can always make me feel better. In fact, she succeeded where even George failed: I am chuckling. Severus raises a quizzical eyebrow. Thinking he might appreciate Luna's unique perspective on our predicament, I pass him her letter. He almost manages to maintain a stony expression while reading it, but the corners of his mouth twitch, betraying his amusement.

A flurry of muttering down the staff table distracts me from watching for Severus's elusive smile. Poppy is leaning far to her left to catch the news. When she turns back to me, her expression is grim.

"Who's dead?" It's an old question, one I got used to asking during the war. I'm sure I don't want to hear the answer – I can't take any more bad news this morning.

"I'm afraid it might be you, after you hear this," she says, regret in her eyes.

"What are you on about, Poppy?" Severus is listening in, over my shoulder, but pretending that he isn't.

"Hannah says there's a bit about you and Severus in this morning's gossip column."

"Merlin's pants!" I unroll my paper, and flip to the back. I spread out the gossip page on the table between me and Severus, and read.

_War Hero Love Triangle_

_By Rita Skeeter_

_Rumor has it that everyone's favorite romantic pairing to come out of the war, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, might be on the rocks, as she was spotted in a passionate embrace with none other than her former professor, current research partner, and fellow war hero Severus Snape. Will the brainy brunette beauty drop her ginger love for a swarthier mate? Will the danger-loving Gryffindor find what she needs in the famously surly Slytherin? Can good-guy Ron compete with the mystique of the Death-Eater-turned-spy-turned-hero? Is it just a phase, or is this unlikely May-December couple made to last? This reporter, for one, looks forward to finding out!_

When I look up, all of the staff – and many of the students at the house tables – are watching me and Severus intently. My cheeks start to burn. Severus stands and glares around at all of them, then stalks off without a word. I bury my face in my hands and groan loudly, and Poppy pats me comfortingly on the shoulder. She was right – I may just die, right here.

* * *

**Part two: Severus**

My students are brats. All of them.

I swept into my first class of the day, fourth-year Slytherins and Gryffindors, to find that someone had written the letters "SS + HG" on the blackboard, surrounded them with a heart, and charmed the entire abomination so that it flashed red and pink.

"Who," I growled, most menacingly, "is responsible for defacing my classroom?"

Naturally, no one took credit for the act.

"Fine," I drawled. "You may thank the culprit later for increasing your workload. You will each give me an additional twelve inches on your essays about the properties of wormwood, which are now due this Thursday, instead of next Monday."

As I turned my back on the class to erase the offensive graffito, a voice from the rear of the room retorted, "Twelve inches to us. Wonder how many inches he gave to Hermione Granger?"

I whirled back to face them, but in the riot that followed the insolent remark, I was not able to identify the speaker. I parried smoothly, "In addition, at next Hogsmeade weekend, you will all find yourselves removed from Mr. Filch's list of approved names."

A mighty groan came up from the entire class, which satisfied me no end. After that, I was able to teach the rest of the period without incident.

Unfortunately, word did not travel fast enough during the break, because some of my second period students made a very foolish choice. You would think that sixth-years would know me better, and that students who intend to sit for N.E.W.T.s next year would have more respect for the subject and their professor.

When I turned to face the class after putting the instructions for Veritaserum on the blackboard, four students in the back of the room had turned their backs to me, wrapped their arms tightly around themselves, and, heads bowed as if kissing someone, were caressing their own backs, mimicking a lovers' embrace. I docked each of them 50 house points (despite the fact that half of them were from my own house), and gave all four of them detention for tonight. Just what I need to make this day perfect: more time spent with idiots. I will find the most disgusting jobs possible for them to do, no matter how pointless – like rebottling all of the pickled rat parts.

At midmorning, my enchanted inkbottle burned in my pocket. I surreptitiously checked its color a few times, and it was consistently either red or blue. She is angry and upset by the letters she received this morning, and the unwanted publicity of the gossip column. This is exactly why I gave her that inkbottle – so I can avoid her when she is angry or upset. I will cancel our afternoon meeting today. She should be arriving in a quarter of an hour, and I will make an excuse and turn her away.

If I were writing in a journal with enchanted ink (which, of course, I would never do), it would be coming out red and brown. I too am quite angry – with my idiot students as well as with that malicious bint Skeeter. But while Hermione's letters this morning seemed to sadden her (except for the one with the insane ramblings of Miss Lovegood), the letter I received from Harry was nothing short of perplexing. I pull it from my pocket and read again.

_Dear Severus,_

_I heard a rumor that you and Hermione were snogging passionately the other night in front of a huge collection of witnesses. I suspect it is true – but feel free to correct me (you always have!) if I am wrong. I want you to be happy, and I want Hermione to be happy, and if being together is what does it for you, then… I suppose I'll find a way to get used to it. Ron's heart will break if he loses the girl he's been in love with for practically a decade (especially if he loses her to you, no offense!), but he's got a big loving family, which now includes me, to help him through it. He'll survive, though it won't be pretty._

_However: If you hurt Hermione, you'll be less popular than a blast-ended skrewt. She does NOT have a big loving family to put the pieces back together. She doesn't have any brothers or sisters, her parents are rather brassed off with her right now, and she will have lost the support of most of the Weasleys. Do you hear me, Severus? Do NOT hurt Hermione._

_Of course, there's always a chance the reports are false. Isn't there?_

_Yours,_

_Harry_

If I understand the Boy Who Meddles properly, he isn't angry about what happened, he is merely warning me that if I were to get involved with Hermione, I should do it right. But of course, I could never get involved with her. For one thing, she is far too young for me. For another, she's a Gryffindor. Not to mention, a muggle-born. And we would fight ALL the time, because she is the most annoying witch I've ever met. And besides, as Miss Lovegood so eloquently put it, Hermione doesn't like me "that way." In fact, I don't believe she likes me in any way at all. Nor do I like her, of course, but that goes without saying.

So, what sort of response, if any, does this letter require? _'Dear Harry, don't worry, I won't hurt her so long as she refrains from sighing and moaning in my dungeon.'_ No, that sounds all wrong! I meant that as long as she doesn't get all weepy and emotional around me, I shan't have to kill her. Perhaps 'sighing and moaning' is not the ideal phrasing.

'_Dear Harry, as hell has not yet frozen over, you may safely assume that Hermione and I are not romantically involved.'_ Better tone, but too cliché.

'_Dear Harry, I am already less popular than a blast-ended skrewt, and prefer things that way. If Weasley loses the girl after all this time, I can assure you, the blame should be placed squarely upon his own shoulders, not mine. Perhaps you should turn your threats on him, as he is far more likely to hurt her than I am.'_ Hmmm… a bit too defensive, maybe. But I do relish the idea pointing a finger at Weasley. I frankly don't know what Hermione sees in him. 'He's a good man,' she told me yesterday afternoon. Perhaps. But perhaps not good enough.

A knock sounds at my door. Is it time already? I have been lost in my thoughts like some daydreaming fool. I open the door, but do not step aside to let her by.

"I'm sorry, Hermione, but something has come up. I'm afraid I must cancel our appointment for this afternoon."

"But Severus," she starts, looking up at me in concern, "I really need to…" She pulls several rolls of parchment from her robe pockets and looks at them, helplessly.

"Hermione, I will not help you answer your fan mail. I am a busy man. I will see you at our next scheduled meeting, on Wednesday."

She is not leaving my doorway. Tears fill her eyes. Merlin, help me. "Severus, my friends all want to know what's going on between me and you, and I don't know what to tell them. Will you be responding to your letter from Harry? Shouldn't we be sure that… that our stories are the same?"

"I have not yet decided if Harry's letter requires a response from me. And what is there to discuss? Did we not both agree just yesterday that whatever happened at Halloween was a mistake, and didn't mean anything?" Why am I asking her questions? They will only postpone her departure.

"Of- of course, Severus. It was a mistake, and it will never happen again. But I- I need to give them some reason why it occurred in the first place. I wish I could deny the incident entirely, but with so many witnesses, that's not going to work." She shakes her head sadly, looking quite forlorn.

"I agree, obliviating that many witnesses is impractical, though still tempting. I am sorry that I cannot help you solve this conundrum, Hermione. I do have pressing matters requiring my attention, however." I start to close the door, but she reaches out and stops it. She has gotten quite bold in her desperation!

"Please, Severus," she begs me, "you helped create this 'conundrum.' I won't deny I had some part in it, but you must help me manage the consequences!"

"Why must I help you? Do you think you are the only one who is suffering consequences of our moment of poor judgment? Are you planning to help me maintain order in my classrooms until this whole thing fades into distant memory? You deal with your own problems, and I'll deal with mine." I try again to close the door. Once again, she holds it open, and actually takes a step further into my office.

"Your students are behaving improperly as a result of what happened?" Her voice is soft, full of concern. Damn, I do not want her to pity me, any more than I want to deal with her self-pity!

"A few of them made the mistake of thinking they could take advantage of the situation, but I have corrected that misapprehension. I have doubled the length of an essay and moved forward its deadline, cancelled the next Hogsmeade weekend for an entire class, taken 200 house points, and given four detentions this morning." I am in control, as always.

"Merlin," she says, and – of all the improbable reactions – she laughs heartily. "They must have forgotten they were dealing with Severus Snape!"

"I have reminded them quite effectively, I assure you," I tell her, almost cracking a smile. Her laughter is contagious, and I am trying to maintain my immunity.

"But seriously, Severus," she says, all business again, and stepping farther into my office, "I can't figure out what to tell Harry, Ron, George, and Luna. I guess I don't know myself why it happened. One second we were fighting, and the next…." She is too close to me. I remove my hand from the door, and step back. "I was thinking of telling them that we were fighting, and then you kissed me just to make me shut up."

"Don't be ridiculous. If I wanted to shut you up that badly, I would simply cast a Silencing charm on you." Gods, how I would love to cast a Silencing charm on that girl sometimes. She looks alarmed at the very idea, which amuses me.

"Shall I tell them, then, that you were just so overcome with my beauty and charm that you couldn't help yourself?"

"I am quite tempted to use Silencio right now, Hermione, as you are talking utter nonsense, and I do recall saying I have important things to do!"

"What shall I tell them, then, Severus? That it was a dare? That we were simply demonstrating proper technique to some sexually curious fourth-years? That Wrackspurts did, in fact, get me, and you as well?" She has been advancing on me with every crackpot excuse she invents. I am now backed up against my desk.

"Hermione," I shout, "I do not care WHAT you tell your friends! I thought I had made that clear! Besides, you should not be in my office. Didn't Miss Lovegood advise you to stay away from me until you are cured of your putative Wrackspurt infection?"

"Fine. I'll go." She looks defeated. "I'll just tell them… that I don't know how it happened, but that it was a mistake and won't happen again. I doubt that will pacify Ron, once he realizes that it wasn't just Malfoy taking the mickey out of him, but I'll… I'll manage."

She turns and retreats, and I sigh with relief, though I hope it was quiet enough that she didn't hear it. I would never tell her this, of course, but perhaps it will be a good thing for her to have to face Ron's jealousy. There must be some reason she has not yet married the boy, and their inevitable confrontation may save her from making a huge mistake.

As she reaches the door, she turns back to me, with a wicked smile. "Have fun with your detentions tonight," she teases. "Might I suggest you have them spend the evening preparing dragon dung samples for your storeroom?"

I laugh. Damn it all, I laugh! But it is a brilliant idea.

And in a flash, she is gone.

* * *

**Part three: Neville**

Hannah keeps looking upward at the slightest noise. She hasn't said so, but I know she is eagerly awaiting this morning's Daily Prophet to see if there is any further reporting on the 'War Hero Love Triangle.'

I will admit, I am intrigued by the entire spectacle myself, but I know how much all the attention is bothering Hermione – not to mention Severus, one of the most intensely private people I've ever met.

A sudden roar catches us all by surprise – everyone in the Dining Hall looks up at once to see three times the usual number of owls come rushing in. Most of them are headed straight for the staff table! Hannah screams, and I shield her with my body. Her Daily Prophet lands hard in front of her, bounces onto her coffee cup, and spills hot liquid into her toast and jam. The bulk of the flock of screeching owls is at the other end of the table. We cautiously look over to see an avalanche of letters being dropped onto Hermione and Severus – there must be hundreds of rolls of parchment pelting them, bouncing off of their heads, and splashing in their food. And then, as quickly as they arrived, the owls swoop out again, leaving a ringing silence in their wake. All eyes in the hall are on Hermione and Severus.

He stands, looks disdainfully at the enormous pile of letters, and says in a carrying voice, "I have lost my appetite. Good day." With a swoosh of black robes, he is gone. Hermione looks lost – utterly overwhelmed.

I squeeze Hannah's hand, and walk over to Severus's vacated seat. "Can I help you, Hermione? Would you like me to vanish all of these?" We all know they are letters from readers of the Daily Prophet, and she probably has no desire to read any of them.

She looks up at me gratefully, but shakes her head. "Neville, we can't. I- I sent an owl yesterday afternoon to Ron, and one to Harry, and… Oh, anyway, I think that buried in this mess I might have a few letters I actually want to read."

"I'll help you sort through them, then," I offer. Hannah has joined us, and she nods her agreement.

"I'll help, too, Hermione," says Poppy.

So we set to work. Hannah enlarges Severus's chair so that we can both fit, and the four of us begin to open the letters.

After half an hour or so, we have made it through most of the pile. Most of her letters fall into one of three categories. The first group of writers was morally outraged, demanding to know how Hermione could do this to Ron. A sizeable percentage of them – almost always witches - did, however, include a postscript or other notation asking if the writer could "have Ron myself now that you're done with him." The second group of writers was more congratulatory, suggesting that Severus was the better choice, and wishing the couple their best. I have trouble understanding this, as Ron is usually kind, and funny, while Severus – though admittedly good at potions and undoubtedly a hero – remains to this day a sullen and often frightening man, in my own experience. The third group of writers – thankfully the smallest group, as they scare me thoroughly – was rather threatening! This group, almost – but not exclusively – witches also, told Hermione, often almost verbatim, and sometimes with accompanying drawings (most unpleasant!), to "get your hands off of Severus Snape – that sexy bastard is mine!" I am appalled. I really don't understand witches at all. Thank Merlin my Hannah isn't like that.

A number of the letters were also for Severus, but we took the liberty of deciding that he didn't want to read them, as he had left without so much as a backward glance. Severus's letters were about half from wizards congratulating him on his new status with Hermione (sometimes asking some rather impertinent questions about her anatomy), and about half from witches telling him that he didn't need Hermione, because they could fulfill his every desire. (Ick.)

I was the one who found Ron's letter. The first two sentences were enough to identify the author (_"I can't believe you let Snape kiss you! How could you do this to me?"_), so I rolled it back up, and passed it to Hermione, who stopped sorting letters to read it. She hasn't spoken since.

The Dining Hall has emptied out, except for a few stragglers. Hermione, Hannah, Poppy, and I are the only ones left at the staff table. Hermione holds Ron's letter clenched in her fist, looking weary.

"Found another one!" exclaims Hannah, and she hands Hermione another roll of parchment. "It's from Harry."

"Thank you, Hannah," Hermione sighs, and stuffs the letters from her two best friends into her pocket.

I will let Hannah and Poppy finish opening and sorting the last few dozen letters. I put a friendly hand on Hermione's shoulder. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She shrugs, but tears instantly form in her eyes. "I didn't want to hurt Ron – I don't even know how it happened in the first place. And now… Ron's so upset."

"Can I ask you a question, Hermione?" Although it's really none of my business…

She nods.

"Are you… Do you… Did you kiss Severus on purpose? Hannah thought he must have Confunded you or something." I hear Hannah pause at the mention of her name, but she quickly goes back to sorting letters, recognizing, I'm sure, that this is a private conversation. She can be a bit of a gossip at times, but it's just because she is so interested in other people – she's not malicious about it. Mostly, she is guilty of passing on other people's good news before they get a chance to share it themselves.

Hermione laughs, bitterly. "No, he didn't Confund me. He just… kissed me. I don't exactly know why. We've both said it was wrong, a mistake, and that it won't be repeated. Which is what I told Ron. I knew he would be angry, but he's beyond that – he's livid. I don't know if he'll ever be able to forgive me."

"I can't say for sure, Hermione," I tell her softly, "but I know Ron loves you, and that he is desperately afraid of losing you."

"Then he has to forgive me, one day, doesn't he? We're meant to be together, Ron and I. We're the best of friends – we've been together forever. It's our destiny to get married one day and raise a big redheaded family…." Her voice drifts off, and her eyes are vacant, as if she is not here in the room with me at all anymore. I suppose she's in some imaginary future, with her ginger children playing in the yard.

"Hermione?" She shakes her head and comes back to me with an apologetic smile. "I may be going too far with this question, so if you don't want to answer, that's fine, but… Why haven't you married Ron yet, if you know that's what your future holds?"

"My studies, Neville. I didn't want to be distracted from my studies by a wedding, a new home, maybe even a baby… There will be plenty of time for all of those things after I finish my studies."

"I see. So, seven months from now, you'll be ready, I take it." I didn't mean for it to come out so challenging. I wish I could take it back.

"Of course," she says, chin jutting forward defiantly.

In the meantime, Hannah and Poppy have finished digging through the letters. The two from Harry and Ron were the only personal ones found. I draw my wand, and point it at the enormous pile of letters from strangers who take too strong an interest in her life. "Shall I?"

She nods.

"Evanesco," I say, and the pile instantly vanishes.

"Thanks, Neville," she says, "for everything. You're such a good friend. And Hannah and Poppy, I thank you both so much for your help, as well."

She rises and walks out of the Dining Hall, still looking lost.

"Neville?"

"Yes, Hannah?"

"I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but… well I was right here, you know."

"I know, sweetheart."

"Did you notice that she didn't once use the word 'love' when talking about Ron? She said they are friends, they have a lot of history, and everyone expects them to get married. I hope there's more to it than that."

"Me too, love." I put an arm around her, and kiss her gently, before taking her hand and walking with her to the Great Hall, where I must say goodbye, and head off to the greenhouses.

Just before I go, she squeezes my hand tightly. "You were so sweet to her, Neville. You're such a good friend to people. I love that about you."

I'm sure I'm blushing from the compliments, but there's no way I would ever stop her. I kiss her again. "Have fun transfiguring things," I tell her.

"Have fun growing things," she tells me.

I will. I'm all smiles as I walk out the door into the cool November morning. It is a beautiful day.

I'm sure everything will work out for Hermione in the end. If they really are meant to be together, Ron will come around. And if not, then… maybe Hannah is right. Maybe they're better off as friends.

* * *

_A/N: I realized I was letting Hermione & Severus off too easily if their only consequence was a weekly meeting with Poppy, so… I decided to write this chapter where the shit really hits the fan for them. Word to the wise: if you're a public figure like a war hero, and you are going to succumb to a moment of passion, don't do it in front of hundreds of witnesses._

_What do you think? Should Ron forgive her?_


	5. Chapter 5: A Cold and Dark Winter

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the characters or setting – those belong to JK Rowling, to whom I am eternally grateful for creating the Potterverse. I'm just taking a couple of her characters out for a spin, but promise to return them, only slightly the worse for wear.

_A/N 1: This story is AU in that Severus Snape did not die. A rather brainy brunette saved him after Nagini's attack in DH. As much as is possible, I'll make this canon-compliant, though I'm ignoring the epilogue._

_A/N 2: **Special thanks, as always, to Felena1971**, my trusty co-author/beta reader. She's terrifically creative and so very helpful. And she tells me just what she thinks without pulling any punches. **Also special thanks to Uathann**, for fixing my French!  
_

**Chapter 5: A Cold and Dark Winter**

* * *

**Part one: Hermione**

Severus bangs into the sixth-floor boys' bathroom with me right behind him. The scene sickens and shocks me, even though I knew what I would find: Draco Malfoy lies shaking and screaming on the wet floor, blood blossoming all around him from the deep gashes in his face and chest. I can't believe his body could even hold this much blood – it's everywhere. A panic-stricken Harry kneels next to him, sputtering in disbelief, while Myrtle shrieks and wails. Severus shoves Harry aside, and moves his wand over the gashes, repeating the melodic spell I now know by heart.

"Move! Get in there and do it with me," growls Severus, right behind my ear. It startles me. Harry got quite used to using the pensieve, but this is my first time experiencing a memory that is not my own. It's a bit like using my old time-turner, but at the same time very unlike it. With my time-turner, I had to be careful not to affect something I shouldn't. But here, I can move and speak freely without risk.

The Severus behind me gestures to the Severus in front of me, kneeling in a pool of blood, knitting Draco back together. I fall to my knees next to him in the blood-stained water. Using my wand, I copy Severus's movements, and we murmur the incantation in unison. In a few minutes, Draco's wounds are closed, but he is pale and obviously in need of a Blood Replenishing Potion. Severus lifts him easily, and half-carries him out the door, assuring him that timely application of dittany might still prevent scarring. Harry stands in shocked silence, and Myrtle continues to howl theatrically. I turn my face to the wall and throw up.

"That's enough," says the Severus that remains. A gentle hand takes me by the elbow, and the next thing I know, I am back in the dungeon.

* * *

**Part two: Severus**

"You did well," I tell her. She's shaking uncontrollably and is covered in her own vomit, but she did an excellent job remembering the healing techniques we practiced all week, even when overcome with revulsion and fear. And at least she kept her lunch down until after the healing was completed. I had warned her that this experience would be intense. But of course, she insisted. She needed some practical experience, not just theory. Short of actually cutting someone open with Sectumsempra (I do have a number of students I could have volunteered for the job), this was the best I could arrange.

Clearly, she needs some comforting arms around her right now. Just as clearly, she would never ask me to give her what she needs. A typical prideful Gryffindor, she believes she is strong enough to handle anything. But beyond that, we both know I am not the right man for the job. 'Comforting' is not an adjective most people would apply to me, and it is not an appellation I desire. I am not a hugger, nor do I wish to become one. Besides, I am quite certain it would be inadvisable for me to wrap my arms around her, given what happened the last time we shared any intimate contact.

"Scourgify," I say, pointing my wand at the vomit on her robes.

"Thank you, Severus," she whispers, as I turn my back on her to make us some tea.

It is the least I can do.

It is also the most I can do.

* * *

**Part three: Poppy**

"Biscuit?" I offer the tin, as usual. As usual, she takes one, and thanks me.

"I'll get your tea," I say, as the teapot whistles. We've met a half-dozen times already, and have fallen into a comfortable routine. As I put her apricot tea into one infuser, and my oolong tea – for health – into the other, however, she surprises me.

"Actually," she says, almost shyly, "could I have Earl Grey this time?"

I raise an eyebrow, and nod. She blushes. I spill the apricot tea back into its tin, and get the Earl Grey instead – Severus Snape's preferred tea.

"How is it, my dear," I ask her teasingly, "that you are now drinking Earl Grey, as does our distinguished Potions Master?"

Her blush deepens. I'm glad they're getting along enough to share tea. But – for the sake of her research – I don't want them getting along well enough to share much else. Were it not for her training, I would be perfectly happy to see them sharing kisses, sharing a bed, sharing a life. Merlin knows they both need it, and they do seem to have a certain animal chemistry, even if neither of them is willing to admit it. If they get too involved, the Advanced Training Coordinator at St. Mungo's will take action. After their kiss hit the gossip pages, I flooed to St. Mungo's. I assured the ATC that I was aware of the situation, and had already taken action by questioning them about their relationship, and ordering these weekly meetings. It pacified her for the time being. At least for now, it is best for them to be friendly, but not too friendly.

"Oh, Poppy, it's nothing," Hermione tells me, obviously working hard to keep her face neutral, and failing. "Severus and I are working on some rather intense material. Afterward, he makes tea, and I eat a bit of chocolate to help me recover – Professor Lupin said it was good for that – and we review the day's work. Earl Grey is the only tea he keeps, and… I've gotten accustomed to it. It's the bergamot oil, he tells me, that gives it that delicious flavor and aroma."

"Yes, Remus – Professor Lupin – loved his chocolate. It does, in fact, enhance mood, and he would prescribe it for himself and his friends as often as possible." I chuckle, but sadly. I miss that boy, especially after full moons. We spent a lot of time together while he was a student, and became quite fond of each other. I was overjoyed to have him back as a colleague that year. It broke my heart when he and his wife were killed. I understand they had a son, though. In a few years, we'll have another Lupin at the castle. I do hope he's like his father…

"Poppy? Are you all right?"

Oh, silly old me. Here I am reminiscing about werewolves I have known and loved, instead of listening to Hermione.

"I'm sorry. I still miss Remus. He spent time in the Hospital Wing after every full moon. We were friends." I swipe at my eyes with my sleeve. Such a sentimental old fool I have become.

"We all miss him, Poppy," she says, swiping at her eyes, too.

The tea is done steeping, so I bring the tea tray from the counter to the sitting area. She uses the delicate silver sugar tongs first, as she is my guest. I wrestle my mind back to the business at hand, as I wait my turn.

"Tell me more, Hermione, about the 'intense material' you've been working on with Severus."

She inhales the tea's aroma, eyes closed - just as I've seen Severus do every Tuesday afternoon for the past six weeks. Does she realize she's becoming more like him, the more time they spend together? She savors the first sip, just like Severus. Oh, they're in trouble. It's only December. By June, they'll be like an old married couple.

"So, you remember I told you that we spent weeks on the Sectumsempra curse. I learned what to do, and then saw it in the pensieve, and practiced alongside Severus as he patched Draco up before bringing him to you for the dittany and Blood Replenishing Potion. He took me into that memory over and over again, until I could handle it without getting ill. Once I mastered that – not just the healing, but my emotions as well – we moved on. He's been teaching me now about how he kept that curse contained in Professor Dumbledore's hand for so long. Just this week, he took me into that memory. It was horrifying, again, but I handled myself well. I actually think Severus is proud of me, though of course he would never say as much."

I think so, too, though he hasn't said it in so many words. But he has spoken of her dogged determination, her facility for remembering complex spells, and her unwavering resolve when learning about Dark Arts. He does still complain that she is overly talkative, and curious about things to the point of obsession. But on the whole, they seem to be working well together. I am pleased with the work they have done since we started these weekly meetings. Their time together must have become a bit awkward after their now-legendary Halloween kiss, and the scrutiny of their friends, colleagues, students, and the media can't have helped. But they are both adults and have managed to focus on their work, and have been quite productive.

We share tea and small talk for another fifteen minutes, before I get called away to cure a case of frostbite.

"Frostbite?" Hermione wonders aloud. "But it's unseasonably warm! How can anyone get frostbite in these temperatures?"

"Oh, this happens at least every few years, around Christmastime. Students start dreaming about the winter holiday, and all the fun they will have at home. Eventually, some bright student – usually a boy, and frequently a Gryffindor – gets the idea of having a snowball fight with his friends, and tries to fill his common room with magically produced snow. You have to work that spell for a long time to make enough snow for a snowball fight – and more often than not, they get frostbitten fingers on their wand hands. In fact, I believe the Weasley twins tried it the year before you started at Hogwarts."

I shake my head ruefully. Hogwarts has a new crop of mischief-makers, but I miss my old favorites: the Marauders and the Weasley twins stand out in my memories. Sadly, only George is left to wreak havoc on the world.

"See you at supper," I tell Hermione, as I push through the door into the infirmary to tend to the latest mischievous imp. I have always had a soft spot for this sort of bad boy, perhaps because they wind up in my care so often. I have plentiful opportunities to get to know them as I patch up whatever improbable things they've done to themselves. Careful to hide my amusement, I give the culprit a reproving glare instead.

* * *

**Part four: Severus**

How can I enjoy my breakfast with Hermione and Poppy making chitchat right next to me? I sincerely hope this is not how they spend their weekly meetings. I have managed to keep my meetings with Poppy businesslike and satisfactorily brief. We share a cup of tea, I report on my work with Hermione, and I leave. Something tells me Thursdays involve a significant amount of what is commonly called "girl talk" (though Poppy can hardly be called a "girl," at her age). I try to block out the noise by mentally reciting the procedure for brewing Felix Felicis, but bits of their conversation break through my barrier nonetheless.

"How are things with Ron?" asks Poppy.

Hermione sighs and shakes her head. "Not well. I wrote him ages ago, begging him to give me another chance, but he refuses to communicate with me."

"You haven't heard anything at all from him?"

Gods, woman, that's what refusal to communicate means! If I cast a quick Silencio on both of them under the table, would anyone know I was responsible?

Hermione is actually wringing her hands in distress. I had imagined that to be a mere figure of speech, but she's doing it. I knew that dunderheaded fool would hurt her.

"Well, not directly," she says, in a constricted voice. "But I did get an apologetic letter from Harry, saying that Ron didn't want to hear from me anymore."

Stupid boy. He wouldn't know a good thing if it bit him in the arse. Does he think he can do better? I'm sure I know which letter she means. About a month ago, she became strangely silent after reading a letter at breakfast. At the time, I was relieved not to have her prattling on with Poppy. But she spent much of the morning writing in her journal. The ink was mostly blue, with brief snatches of red, for over an hour. Knowing as I did that she was both sad and angry again, I took the liberty of canceling our afternoon session. The inkbottle plan has been working nicely – it has twice rescued me from spending an afternoon with an overwrought Gryffindor.

"What are your plans for the holiday, then?" Poppy pries further. "Don't you usually spend Christmas with Ron's family?"

Christmas dinner surrounded by Weasleys? I'm certain I would lose my appetite entirely.

"I'm not sure," she replies slowly. "I'll probably spend just a day or two with Mum and Dad. It's still not a terribly comfortable relationship."

What is this I keep hearing about Hermione not getting along with her parents? I gather she did something quite deceitful to them. There may be hope for her yet.

"I'll probably spend a few days with Harry & Ginny," she continues. "And try to see Luna for a bit. I've actually been considering spending part of the holiday someplace like Bali, soaking up some tropical warmth in relative anonymity."

Bali! Excellent choice. The tropical plants there are sources of many rare, expensive potions ingredients.

"You wouldn't go by yourself, would you?"

"It's no problem, Poppy," she replies, "I don't mind being alone. I'll bring something interesting to read on the beach; it'll be fine."

What pitiful holiday plans. Visit angry parents, become third wheel at newlywed Harry's home, visit daft Lovegood, then plant nose into book on lonely beach. At least visiting Lovegood should provide some comic relief. Wrackspurts, indeed! And a brooch for protection from them!

"I know you can entertain yourself, Hermione. I was talking about safety. There are still Death Eaters out there who would love to bring you down as revenge for your part in ending the war, or maybe as a way to hurt Harry, since everyone knows how close you two are."

Actually… Protective jewelry isn't a bad idea for a witch who is, as Poppy so astutely observed, a high profile potential target. If she had something that acted, not as a Wrackspurt repellent, but as a Dark magic detector, it could warn her of cursed items or other traps. Perhaps I could create such an item and give it as a Christmas gift from Hermione's "secret admirer." I could make it heart-shaped, to look like a love token from the mystery man.

My thoughts are interrupted by the beating of wings. The post is here. As usual, Hermione gets her morning Prophet. But today, she also gets a letter.

"It's from Ron!" she exclaims, ripping open the missive, and scanning it quickly. Relief is evident not just in her features, but in her entire carriage. "Oh, Poppy! He's giving me another chance!"

It's a wonder she can't hear my eyes rolling in my head, the involuntary reaction is so strong.

"Listen: 'I'm willing to try again, I suppose. Come to Christmas dinner at the Burrow again this year – it wouldn't feel like Christmas without you.' Oh, Poppy… But Mrs. Weasley was so mad at me. This is going to be terribly uncomfortable!"

Yes – uncomfortable! The detector should change temperature when exposed to Dark magic. Not enough to burn or freeze her, but uncomfortable enough to catch her attention, without alerting anyone else. She apparently likes warmth, so I'll make it get cold as a warning.

"You'll do fine, Hermione," says Poppy, encouragingly. "He couldn't help but get jealous, but once you are back together at Christmas and he sees that nothing has changed between you, everything will turn out."

I find it laughable that Weasley is jealous of me. This is an entirely new, and quite amusing, way I can torture the simpleton. I shall compound his troubles by giving him something else to be jealous about. I will make this heart-shaped jewelry something very noticeable – something even Weasley can't miss: a bright red pendant, on a cord too short to be tucked inside her robes. What will she tell him, when he asks about it? That it is from a secret admirer? He may have grudgingly forgiven her for our accident at Halloween, but this will give him something else to worry about.

My laboratory calls. I must complete this project in time to deliver the gift before she leaves for the holiday. I rise from my half-eaten meal, and turn to leave.

"Severus!" calls Hermione's voice as I sweep from the staff table. "You're leaving in the middle of breakfast again? You do know it's the most important meal of the day, don't you?"

Meddlesome and interfering witch! I do not dignify her question with a response, but go straight to my lab. I have half an hour before first period in which to start on the pendant.

* * *

**Part five: Hermione**

Grimmauld Place looks distinctly better now than it did when I first saw it seven years ago. Ginny was not thrilled about living in this big old empty place in the city, after growing up in the warmth and chaos of the Burrow, but Harry was unwilling to move. He told me once he can almost feel Sirius's presence here, which is comforting on his bad days. So Ginny, with Molly's able help, settled for making the place brighter and homier.

I knock, noting the change from the twisted serpent doorknocker to a more Gryffindor-friendly lion's head. Sirius would have approved.

Harry opens the door with a grin. He takes my bag, tosses it aside, and envelops me in a bear hug. This act of kindness touches me deeply. He's not willing to let whatever is going on with me and Ron get in the way of our friendship. I kiss his cheek and whisper "Thanks" into his ear.

When he releases me, I allow Grimmauld Place to sink into my bones. I've known the place for so long that it almost feels like home to me. I smile at the place where Mrs. Black's portrait used to hang. George was the one to remove it, finally. "If it's permanently stuck to the wall, why don't we just remove the wall?" he asked, one day. So he, Ron, Ginny, Harry, and I systematically cut through the offending section of wall (literally, as Mrs. Black screamed obscenities throughout the procedure). Once we had that section freed from the rest of the house, we shot five simultaneous Vanishing charms at it, and that was that. We rebuilt the wall and painted it a nice, quiet, ordinary, beige.

"Are you just going to leave that wall blank, then, Harry?" I ask.

"No, actually," he replies, grinning ear to ear. "I've just commissioned Dean Thomas to do a portrait of Mum, Dad, Sirius, and Remus for that wall! He'll have it done in a couple of months."

"That's brilliant! Dean is so artistic; he'll do a terrific job. How is he?"

"He's doing well, Hermione. But what I really want to know is… How are you? You've had an interesting couple of months, haven't you?"

"Yes," I say, with a blush.

"So what the hell is going on with you and Severus? I got your letter, but it didn't really explain what happened, or – more importantly – how."

We've moved into the sitting room, and I take a seat near the hearth. "Do you really want to know?" I ask.

"Yeah, of course I do," he says, plunking himself down on an ottoman. His earnest expression brings a faint smile to my face. I'm too sad about the current state of my affairs to muster a full one.

"Where's Ginny?" I don't know if I want her to hear the story or not. I trust Harry not to judge me, but Ginny… In the end, her loyalties will always lie with her family.

"She's upstairs, straightening the guest room. I think she wanted to give us a little time alone. She loves you, you know? But she loves Ron as well, and I think she's feeling very confused about this whole mess. She may be a bit distant at first, but she'll warm up."

I suddenly find that I can't wait to tell Harry what happened with Severus on Halloween night, and since. I've written about my feelings, but the journal and I have a very one-sided relationship. I want to hear what Harry has to say about it, especially since he knows Severus better than most.

He listens patiently as I spin the tale – the argument with Severus, the surprise of his lips on mine, and the even greater surprise of finding myself kissing him back. "I honestly can't tell you why he kissed me, but I do know that it felt…"

"Go on," he urges me, his eyes twinkling.

"Oh, Harry, don't make fun of me. It's crazy, I know, but the kiss felt good – better than good. At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to be in his arms. I felt like we could have kissed for hours. Oh, look at me! I'm getting flushed just thinking about it! But obviously, as soon as I came to my senses, I knew it was wrong. I mean, you know… Ron. And… really, it's Severus, of all people. I don't have feelings for him like that! In fact, I don't find him very pleasant at all."

"So Severus is a good kisser, is he?" Harry is trying hard not to laugh.

"Yeah," I admit, feeling the flame in my cheeks, "he is."

"Who would have known?" he marvels.

"Harry, I know you wrote to Severus, too, after Ginny and Ron heard the news. Did he write back to you? Has he said anything to you about what happened?" I hate hearing the desperate tone in my voice. Harry hears it, too, and raises an eyebrow at me.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. He didn't return my letter." Suddenly, he smirks. "But I'm sure he thinks you're a good kisser, too!" I give him a well-deserved smack on the arm. He chuckles, but then turns more serious. "So how are you two managing to work together now? Has it been weird?"

"It was at first. We talked about it briefly, and both said it was a mistake that would never happen again. And, of course, it hasn't. We still have occasional awkward moments, but then we get into our work, and everything is fine. I've been learning so much – it's very exciting!"

"I'm glad to hear that, at least." He looks at his shoes. "So, Ron invited you to Christmas dinner…"

"He did. I'm rather nervous about being there with all the Weasleys, under the circumstances. Are they very angry with me?"

"Well, Ron was very angry obviously, but it's cooled a bit over time. He realized that he still really wants to be with you. Ginny, like I said, seems conflicted. George isn't angry – I think he's quite amused. You know George: he can find humor in almost any situation. Bill seems more concerned than angry, but Fleur is very blasé about it. She said your passion was 'très Francais' or something. Percy is Percy – he's offended by the age gap between you and Severus. It upsets his carefully ordered universe. Mr. Weasley knows better than to disagree with Mrs. Weasley. And Mrs. Weasley…"

"I bet she's still really angry with me. George said she wanted to send me a Howler."

"Well, she's feeling protective of Ron. You know how mothers can be."

Tears spring to my eyes at the mention of mothers. Harry leans forward and takes my hand.

"I'm sorry, Hermione! I didn't mean to make you cry! I thought you wanted a preview of what to expect at dinner…"

"It's not that, Harry. I do appreciate the preview. I guess Mrs. Weasley is likely to be my toughest critic at the Burrow."

"If it's not that, what is it? Did your visit with your own mum go poorly?"

"It was strained. Under normal circumstances, I think I could have talked with Mum about Severus, and Ron… But she's not seemed terribly sympathetic lately. And now I come here and Ginny's not as friendly as usual, either… Thank Merlin at least you're talking to me, Harry. You have no idea how much I needed that hug, and how much this chat has meant."

"Hermione, you know I just want you to be happy, right?"

"Of course! Thank you for that."

"I mean it, Hermione. Even if it turns out that Ron is not what makes you happy."

"What are you saying, Harry?"

"Just… trust your feelings. You don't have to be with Ron just because he wants you, or because you've been together for years, or because it's what anybody else expects of you. You should only be with him if it's what you truly want."

"But… don't you want Ron to be happy, too? What if what I want and what he wants are incompatible? Hypothetically speaking, of course."

"Hypothetically speaking, Hermione, I wouldn't want you to marry Ron for the wrong reasons. That would only make you both unhappy."

He's right of course, though I'd never thought of it that way. "Thanks, Harry," I tell him sincerely.

"Well, I'll go check on Ginny. It's getting on to lunch time, isn't it?"

A rumble from my stomach confirms his assessment, and we both laugh. "I guess it is! If you don't mind, I'll just go poke around in the library while you're upstairs. I bet I'll find all kinds of interesting books there that could help me in my studies."

"Have fun," he says with a smile. "You'll be glad to know we haven't done any purging in the library. It's just as Dark as ever."

"Sounds delightful!"

He gives me another hug before going upstairs to his wife.

* * *

**Part six: Harry**

"You're going to have to face her sometime, Gin."

"I know," she says testily. "But I don't have to do it quite yet. I'll head to the kitchen and make something for us all to eat. Give me ten minutes?"

I know better than to argue. "All right, then. I'll keep Hermione company until you're ready."

When I get to the library, I find Hermione slowly walking the perimeter of the room, and holding on to her necklace with one hand, a curious expression on her face.

"Hermione?" I ask. She seems to be concentrating deeply. "What are you doing?"

She stops, and turns to me. "I'm not sure, Harry. There's something strange about my necklace. When I walk past that section of shelves in the corner, the heart pendant gets very cold. It's reacting to something, but I don't know what, or why."

"Has it done that before?"

"No, but I've not had the necklace for long. I only got it a few days ago."

"Where did you buy it, then?"

She blushes. "I didn't buy it, Harry. It was a gift."

"So – who gave it to you?" She looks embarrassed about the gift. Could it be Severus? He doesn't seem like a heart-necklace-giving sort of man.

She blushes, if possible, more deeply red than before. "I- I don't know who gave it to me. It was an anonymous gift-giver."

"Crap, Hermione!" I yelp. "Did you test it for curses before you put it on? Did you learn nothing from watching Katie Bell nearly die in our sixth year? Or from wearing Slytherin's damned locket? Some mysterious person gives you a necklace, and you just PUT IT ON?"

Her face goes from red to white, instantly. "This isn't the first gift I received from him, Harry. He seems… trustworthy. You're right, of course. I should have tested it first." She takes it off, puts it on a side table, and draws her wand.

"What other kinds of things has this mysterious person given you, then?" I ask, approaching the necklace warily.

"First was a journal and quill for my birthday, and then a bottle of some special mood-sensing ink at Halloween. I've been using all three things frequently, and there have been no nasty surprises so far…."

"A mysterious journal? Hermione, please! Tell me you haven't forgotten what happened to Ginny with Tom Riddle's diary!" Is this the same girl I knew in school?

"Of course I haven't forgotten! Harry, it's not like that. This journal doesn't talk back to me. The ink, admittedly, is a bit strange, but it's fascinating to see it change colors according to how I'm feeling when I'm writing."

I sigh deeply and pull my wand, too. "Do you have those items with you as well?

"They're in my bag. You think we should test them for curses, too?"

"I do." We wave our wands in a figure eight pattern over the necklace to test it. Had it been cursed, our wands would vibrate violently in our hands – but they are still. She puts it back on.

We go down to the sitting room together, and pull the journal, quill, and inkbottle from her bag, and test them the same way. They all come up clear as well.

Hermione has a look I've seen a million times: she's putting clues together. I know not to interrupt the genius at work.

"What if," she finally says, "the necklace is doing what we were just doing? What if it's detecting curses? Is there anything in that corner of the library that could be cursed?"

"Could be," I tell her, excitedly. "Though we've worked hard to clean the place up over the years, there are probably still some Dark things that we haven't found yet."

By this time, we are both moving quickly back to the library, wands out. We go to the corner she had indicated, and pass our wands over the shelves slowly. They begin to vibrate over a shabby, ancient-looking green book.

"Let's test our theory, then," I suggest. "Wingardium Leviosa!" I lift the book off the shelf, and move it to the opposite corner of the room. "Now walk around the room and see what the necklace does."

We both jump, startled, when we hear Ginny's voice calling up the stairs. "Harry! Hermione! Lunch is ready!"

"Just a second, Gin," I call down. "Go on, Hermione. Try it."

She walks slowly around the perimeter of the room again. When she reaches the corner where the book now lies on the floor, she stops dead in her tracks. "Harry," she whispers, "it's as cold as ice here, but nowhere else in the room. I think this necklace is supposed to protect me from Dark magic."

"And you have absolutely no idea who's been giving you these things?"

"None. At first I thought it must be someone from Ravenclaw, because of the journal's color and the eagle quill. But now I think those were false clues, intended to throw me off track. Whoever is giving me these gifts does not wish to be discovered. It's very strange."

"It is," I agree. "Your secret admirer is also a secret protector. Maybe you should stop trying to think of who might be trying to win your heart, and think instead of who might be trying to protect you from danger."

"Harry! Hermione!" This time, Ginny's voice betrays her growing irritation with us.

We turn, and head toward the kitchen, as I call down, "We're on our way!"

* * *

**Part seven: Hermione**

This has been the most awkward holiday of my life.

The only bright spot so far, besides Harry of course, has been Luna. Harry invited her to join us at Grimmauld Place for Christmas Eve, and she flooed over. Luna, of course, with her knack for reading people and her unswerving candor, noticed immediately that Ginny was holding me at arm's length, and said so. "I guess it's complicated for you when your brother and your best friend have been arguing," she observed. "It would be uncomfortable feeling as though you needed to pick sides." For some reason, it helped Ginny to have Luna acknowledge her difficult position. After that, Ginny's barriers began to come down a little.

Luna brought with her the Wrackspurt-expelling tea invented by her father, and gave me some. I pretended to drink it, but dumped it into the troll-leg umbrella stand as we strolled from the kitchen to the sitting room. Then she admonished me again for not wearing the brooch she gave me.

Harry and Ginny were amused by the Wrackspurt theory. I was thrilled to see Ginny laughing again.

At Ginny's insistence, Luna stayed overnight. She and I shared the room that Ginny and I used to share when we were younger. And just as Ginny and I used to do, Luna and I stayed up late talking. Luna maintained that Severus is sexy in a dark and brooding way, and she wanted to hear all about the kiss. I gave her all the details, and she made a noise that sounded very much like "squee." I insisted, however, that there was nothing going on with Severus and me, and she sounded disappointed.

"If you think he's so hot, why don't you ask him out?" I teased her, although I really can't imagine two people more opposite in temperament.

She politely declined. "No, Professor Snape is the kind of man I prefer to admire from a safe distance. I would rather date someone more approachable."

For some reason, I was pleased with her response.

She gave me a hug and a kiss before flooing home this morning to spend Christmas Day with her father.

And now I'm at the Burrow, which feels so familiar, and yet – with the tension in the air – so foreign.

The house itself looks the same as it always does at Christmastime, with fairy lights in the garden, a decorated tree brushing the ceiling in the living room, and a dining table enlarged to seat the entire crowd taking up most of the space on the ground floor. That crowd has changed somewhat over the years, first with the addition of Fleur, then with the loss of Fred. Three years ago, our Christmas dinner saw the addition of Bill and Fleur's baby Victoire, and two years ago the newest member of the crowd was George's wife – our old friend and fellow Gryffindor Angelina. Last year Ginny and Harry had made it official, and this year is our first Christmas with Percy's new wife, Audrey. Charlie, still single despite having recently celebrated his thirtieth birthday, has come in from Romania again for the celebration, rounding out our party of fourteen.

Mrs. Weasley is putting finishing touches on the dinner, with Ginny, Percy, and Audrey helping. There's really no room for anyone else in the kitchen, but I'm not sure she wants me in there anyway.

"Why don't you lot go out back and relax for a bit while we finish up?" suggests Percy. "Charlie's made a great bonfire out there, so you'll be warm enough."

Ron, who has not touched me and barely looked at me, turns to Harry. "Actually, mate, can you come upstairs for a moment? I want to show you something." For a man who says he wants to try again with me, he's not trying very hard.

Harry gives me a little shrug and an apologetic smile, and follows Ron upstairs. Ron just wants to avoid making small talk with me, I think, and will probably quiz Harry about anything I might have said about him or Severus at Grimmauld Place.

Angelina watches them go, then takes me by the arm. "Come on, Hermione. Let those two go talk Quidditch upstairs, while the rest of us go enjoy the warmth of the bonfire." She knows perfectly well they are not talking Quidditch. If they were, she, George, Ginny, and Charlie would be joining them.

But I follow her, George, Bill and Fleur outside to where Charlie is tending the blazing fire. Fleur is moving slowly, picking her way carefully over the rough ground, supported by Bill's arm. She is hugely pregnant with their second child. I conjure a comfortable rocking chair for her, and a footstool. She gratefully – and as gracefully as is possible in her condition – sinks into it, and beams me a dazzling smile.

"Hey, Charlie," I greet the handsome dragon-wrangler. "Nice job on the fire."

"Hey, yourself, Hermione," he returns, then turns to Bill and Fleur. "You two sure you should be having another one, when you can't even keep track of the first?"

"Kiss my arse, Charlie," Bill shoots back. "Victoire is chasing gnomes in the garden with Dad."

"Oi, the man's gone barmy in his old age. Having a three-year old grandchild is making him act like a three-year old himself!"

"Non, non, Charlie," Fleur sighs from the rocker, "C'est très mignon, it's very sweet. Besides, I don't have the energy right now to chase after Victoire myself."

"Hermione here seems to have quite a bit of energy," Charlie says, looking me up and down.

"What do you mean by that?" asks Angelina, standing next to me protectively.

"Just that apparently our little brother isn't enough for her, so now she's snogging Snape on the side."

"Sod off, Charlie, and leave her alone."

He smirks at Angelina, and approaches me, eyes smoldering. Like George, Charlie has always been a bit flirtatious with me, but his advances seem to me slightly menacing tonight. My breath catches as he comes within inches of me, smelling of sweat and wood smoke, muscular arms and chest stretching the fabric of his homemade jumper.

"I'm just saying, Hermione, that if I can handle dragons, I'm sure I can handle you. If you like your men older and powerful, you don't need Snape – I'm right here, love."

"I- um," I stammer. It's hard to think with him so close to me!

"Sorry, Charlie," teases George. "She only likes men who have read a book or two in their lives on topics other than dragons."

Fleur laughs, a tinkling laugh. "Mon dieu, Hermione! So many men, so little time, eh?"

I briefly consider throwing myself into the flames, but Ginny comes down from the house to tell us dinner is ready. Charlie steps away from me, and I sigh with relief.

When we get back inside, I see that Harry and Ron are already seated across from each other at the table. The rest of us sit, and Mrs. Weasley levitates the dinner from the kitchen to the long table. I am next to Ron, which gives us the outward appearance of being the same old couple we have been for years. However, it also means we do not have to make eye contact. And we've hardly spoken a word to each other all evening. Harry and Ginny watch the two of us carefully.

Angelina asks Ginny about the Holyhead Harpies' prospects for the season, and I am thankful when the conversation turns to Quidditch for a time. I eat my dinner, nodding at the appropriate moments to give the appearance of following the discussion. This evening could not get more miserable.

Fleur, sitting across from me and to the left a couple of seats, is also uninterested in Quidditch. As usual, her mind is occupied with matters of family and fashion – her two favorite topics. "Your necklace is très charmant, Hermione. I would love to get one for Gabrielle – red looks so lovely on her with her coloring. Wherever did you find it?"

"I- I don't know where you can find one similar, Fleur, it was a gift." I keep my eyes glued to my plate, and feel my cheeks flush.

From down the table, George jokingly asks, "It's not from Snape, is it? Is he plying you with gifts and hoping for more than a kiss this time?"

I stand corrected. The evening is about to get more miserable still. I distinctly hear Harry groan, and feel Ron stiffen beside me.

"No!" I exclaim, probably too defensively, "It's not from him." A nervous glance at Ron confirms what I had expected: his ears are turning red. That's never a good sign.

"Who's it from, then?" asks Angelina. I wish I could just shut them all up before this gets much, much worse.

Harry flashes me a warning glance, but I don't see a way out of this conversation.

"I don't exactly know who it's from," I say with a resigned sigh. When in doubt, go with the truth. "Someone has been secretly leaving me gifts now and then."

Next to me, Ron splutters angrily. "You- You're wearing gifts from a secret admirer? I invite you to a special event at my house and you choose to wear something given to you by another man? I thought you wanted to get back together with me! And the whole time you've got a secret lover? I want you to take that thing off, right now!"

"Is that an order, Ron? I don't take orders from you. I like the necklace, and I will keep it on!" I cannot believe his nerve. If he can talk to me like that now, before we're married, what would he be like as a husband? I wouldn't take this necklace off now even if it were dusted with Bulbadox Powder.

He shoves his chair back from the table to tower over me. "Take it off, Hermione! Don't you care anything for me?"

I stand as well, but I don't shout back. Ron is being a right arse. Meanwhile, my secret admirer gives me lovely gifts and tries to protect me from Dark magic. He could turn out to be a mountain troll, and I'd probably still choose him over Ron, the way I'm feeling right now. "No, Ron," I tell him in a perfectly level voice – though I am shaking with rage, "I don't care much for you at all, at the moment." And then, taking a page from Severus's book, I abandon my half-eaten meal. I bow slightly to everyone else at the table. They all look up at me, mouths agape. "Thank you, Mrs. Weasley, for the meal. Happy Christmas, everyone." I retrieve my travel bag and cloak from the cloak rack near the front door, grasp the handle, and turn.

He follows me out of the house, shouting, "Then I guess we're THROUGH, Hermione!"

I guess we are. I don't look back.

I walk out of the Burrow, not knowing if I'll ever be invited back. Once I'm past the wards, I apparate to Hogsmeade, and walk back to Hogwarts. I hold my tears until I get back to my quarters, but as soon as my door closes behind me, they come hard, hot, and fast.

* * *

**Part eight: Severus**

My inkbottle feels like it will burn a hole in my pocket. I consult my pocket watch, and am surprised at the early hour. Why is Hermione writing in her journal, instead of enjoying the festivities at the Weasley place? Thankful for an excuse to leave the Hogwarts Christmas Feast, I bid Minerva and the other staff members a Happy Christmas, and slip off to the dungeon.

Along the way, I consult the inkbottle. Red. She is angry. On Christmas! Perhaps Weasley's gift didn't please her.

By the time I get back to my quarters, the ink has turned blue. This is not a surprise. I've noticed by now that she treats anger and sadness as if they were an inseparable pair.

Over the next two hours, I sip some egg nog, rolling the warm inkbottle in my left hand, and watching as the ink becomes progressively darker blue. I have never seen it this color before – it is so dark blue that it is almost black. Nor have I ever seen it stay blue for this long. This can only signal a deep depression. The longer she writes in this desolate mood, the more agitated I become. My heart beats faster as I pace my quarters, eyes glued to the inkbottle. This is really too much – she is letting her emotions get the best of her. She seems to be slipping deeper and deeper into despair.

A part of me sees the scene at a remove, and wonders why on earth I care. But I cannot deny that I am captivated by the slow drama that is the gradually darkening ink, and – yes – concerned by what it means for my over-emotional apprentice. Is this a part of the wizard's debt I owe her for saving my life, or am I actually beginning to care for the girl? "Come on," I urge the inkbottle, "Change colors. Red, green, yellow, purple, anything!" But on it goes, the blue-black depths of despondency. She appears to be utterly hopeless, as if she has nothing left to live for. She… she wouldn't be THAT stupid. Would she?!

* * *

_A/N: Aiyee! Another enormously long chapter! And more angsty than I usually get, but it needed to happen, people. It was necessary. Trust me._

_Thank you all for your feedback after last chapter – I loved hearing what you thought about Ron & Hermione. The person whose suggestion was closest to what I ended up writing was probably Novus Disputato, who said "I think that Ron should indeed forgive Hermione, but that he should be the last to do so (right before Molly Weasley, of course), and grudgingly." I did use the word "grudgingly" and loved the idea of Molly being Hermione's toughest critic. **Thank you, Novus Disputato**, and remember to send me all your carrots._

_Most thorough, well-developed suggestion came from **DracoLoverForever** – who included enough detail to turn into a whole separate fic!_

_I'm having a marvelous time with you, my readers! Please keep the feedback coming._

_p.s. Oh, and now after writing section three, I'm dying to write a Remus/Poppy fic. I'll have to add it to my plot bunny list. ;D_


	6. Chapter 6: Silver Midnight

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the characters or setting – those belong to JK Rowling, to whom I am eternally grateful for creating the Potterverse. I'm just taking a couple of her characters out for a spin, but promise to return them, only slightly the worse for wear.

_A/N 1: This story is AU in that Severus Snape did not die. A rather brainy brunette saved him after Nagini's attack in DH. As much as is possible, I'll make this canon-compliant, though I'm ignoring the epilogue._

_A/N 2: Special thanks, as always, to Felena1971, my trusty co-author/beta reader for always having great ideas, and always having the perfect word. _

**Chapter 6: Silver Midnight**

* * *

**Part one: Severus**

When I put the Dark magic detector on Hermione's necklace, I thought it would be enough to keep her out of trouble. Little did I imagine she would need to be protected from herself! Where in the hell could she be? I know HOW she is – horribly, deeply, potentially life-threateningly depressed – but not WHERE she is! She is writing in her journal, therefore I believe she is isolated. It is possible – nay, probable – that I alone know the depths of her despair. If she does need to be saved from herself, I am the only one who can do it. I should have put a damned trace on the pendant while I was at it. She could be anywhere in the world!

Come now, man. Rushing off impetuously to save people is so very… Gryffindor. Let's slow down, look at this logically, and narrow down the possibilities.

I assume she left the Burrow. Obviously, Christmas dinner went poorly, which I am sure is all Weasley's fault – Ron Weasley that is… one must be specific when thinking of that massive – and growing – clan. Gods, it may even be that they argued over the necklace, which would make me (indirectly, of course) responsible for her current anguish, and would therefore mean it was NOT all Weasley's fault. Blast. Whether the necklace was involved or not, I cannot imagine that she stayed there. Again, she is alone, and it would be difficult to find any privacy in that overcrowded house.

Lovegood is ruled out also, as I cannot see Hermione intruding on a friend's Christmas night. It would be rude, and besides – as a typical Gryffindor, she is sure to believe she can handle everything on her own.

Grimmauld Place? I fall to my knees on the rough stone hearth, shouting "Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place," as I toss a fistful of powder into the fire. "Kreacher!" I call, thrusting my face into the green, tickling flames. "Kreacher!" Where is that accursed elf? If Harry and his Weaslette are still at the Burrow, they might have invited Hermione to return to Grimmauld Place and make herself at home. "Kreacher!"

The skinny old elf shuffles into my field of vision. "Mr. Snape, Sir," he scratches out, "Master Harry is not home."

"Is anyone there, Kreacher? Anyone but you?"

"No, no one but Kreacher. Kreacher is alone. Who does Mr. Snape need, Sir?"

"I don't NEED anyone, Kreacher. Good night." I sit back on my heels, and run my hands through my hair in exasperation. Where else was she planning to go over holiday? Bali! It would be next to impossible to find her there… I stand, and out of habit, reach my hand into my robe pocket to spin the burning inkbottle in my fingers.

To my horror, I find that the inkbottle has cooled, the ink making its final, almost imperceptible change from blue-black to just plain black. I roll the bottle worriedly in my palm as I consider her potential whereabouts. It is lifeless and cold. She is done writing, at least for now. Has she gone to bed to cry herself to sleep? Or…

Think! Could she really be in Bali? Well, she could. But I doubt she would go there in her present state. Eyes closed, I hold the inkbottle, and try to imagine what she would do, where she would go. Think… Right now, if I know the troublesome Gryffindor, she wants someplace familiar, someplace that feels like home. Therefore, probably not Bali.

Her parents? No. Not after whatever she did to them.

That really only leaves… Hogwarts. Could it be that – out of the whole world of possibilities – the vexatious witch has been in the castle with me this whole time?

With my wand and a couple of basic healing items in my pockets (a Blood Replenishing Potion and a bezoar, just in case), I stride purposefully to her quarters. I press my ear to her door – and hear nothing. Why isn't she crying into her pillow? Damn it, she should be crying! If she were crying, I'd know she was unhurt – at least, physically unhurt. But silence… Silence could mean she actually DID go to Bali. Or that she is asleep. Or that she is badly hurt… or worse. And I cannot tell from out here. I will have to enter.

A tap on the head with my wand, and the familiar cool sensation of being disillusioned trickles down my body. A wordless "Silencio" will hide my footfalls and my breathing, and another one will silence any creaking of the door itself. "Alohomora" proves unnecessary: the door is unlocked. A quick glance tells me she is here – her travel bag is dumped unceremoniously in the middle of the floor in her sitting room. Despite having silenced the sound of my footsteps, I find that I am walking very gently, practically creeping toward her bedroom.

The door between the rooms of her suite is partly open, and I can just slip inside without moving anything. Brown curls spill across the pillow in the moonlight. At least I have found her. I creep closer, barely breathing myself, to see if her breast is rising and falling. It's a bit hard to tell, as she is still fully clothed, except for her shoes, which I found kicked off in the front room. Careful to hold my hair so that it doesn't fall into her face and wake her, I lower my ear so that it is very close to her mouth, and her breath warms my cheek as I hear her soft exhalation. She is merely sleeping. The journal and quill lie on her bed near her, the inkbottle still open – it would certainly spill all over her bed sheets if she were to roll over in her sleep. I pick up the bottle and replace the cap, and then put it and the quill on her bedside table. Settling myself in an armchair near the window, I turn the journal over in my hands.

Her cat is awake. In the semi-darkness, its squashed face is not as ugly. Its yellow eyes watched the writing materials move through the air with interest; one paw swiped at the quill as it went by. It noticed the indentation of the armchair cushion as I sat, and has come over to investigate. As this is now my fourth visit, the cat seems to find my smell familiar enough – it is winding itself around my legs and purring.

She must be about ready for a new journal by now, as much as she's been writing. I thumb through, just looking to see where the writing ends. It goes on and on and on… Perhaps the next thing her secret admirer should give her is a new journal and yet another quill! Yes, she has easily written in two-thirds of this thing, and in only three months. She will need another by mid-February, no doubt.

With a silent leap, the cat lands on my lap, turns in a circle three times, and then settles. I stroke its back absently, and the purring increases in volume, sounding like a muggle motorcar.

The moon is full: its pale light softly illuminates her bedroom. I flip through the journal again with my other hand, noting how much the ink has been blue. She generally hides it well enough during the day, but it appears this has not been a particularly happy year for her so far. I look for any bits of gold ink, indicating joy, and find none. A fair amount of confused brown ink, a bit of fearful yellow, embarrassed orange, and angry red. But mostly, the pages are blue. I suppose that's when she needs the journal most: when she is feeling down. Thank goodness she's been able to dump it all into this book, instead of subjecting me to it during our sessions. Oh, now here's something interesting: a few pages of purple – the color of passion! I have not been reading the journal, just paging through and looking at color, and I really don't intend to read any page written while she was feeling passionate, but…

My name. My name leaps at me from the page. In purple ink?

I close the journal. I should not be reading it. This is an invasion of privacy of the worst kind.

Well, not of the worst kind. There are worse ways to invade someone. Some of those ways I have vowed never to perpetrate on anyone – I saw enough rape as a Death Eater, and have no interest in being that violent towards anyone. It sickened me, but of course I could not let any of them know of my revulsion. My skills – as a liar, an actor, and an Occlumens – saved me more often than I care to remember.

And… certainly reading her journal is not as invasive as Legilimency, and I have had no compunctions whatsoever about using Legilimency on her in the past, though lately she hasn't been giving me much opportunity. In fact, on a couple of occasions, I have experimentally pushed into her mind only to find myself blocked. Has she been learning Occlumency? And if so, from whom?

There is more to this witch than meets the eye. What is she trying to hide from me? She may have learned to block me from her mind, but this journal has become the repository for her thoughts and emotions, and I hold it in my hand. Impulsively, I search for the purple pages that contained my name, finding them quickly.

_And then Severus grabbed me, hard, and with no warning he kissed me rather forcefully. It was a shock at first, but the shock soon wore off, and I felt as if I were falling. I think I almost swooned! His arms were strong around me, his long fingers spread wide and pressed into my flesh, and his lips were hungry for me. The craziest thing was that I was hungry for him, too. His hair was soft and silky in my fingers as I pulled him down closer to me – he's so tall, I think I may even have risen to the balls of my feet so that I could better reach his lips because I wanted more, much more of them – and the next thing I knew, I hadn't just allowed his tongue into my mouth, but had my tongue in his as well! Dear God, my tongue in Severus Snape's mouth! What the hell was I thinking?_

_Well, obviously, I wasn't thinking – I was just… feeling. And reacting. And my God, did I react. My body quivered, and I pressed into him. He was hard – well, yes, that too, but I mean all hard muscles under those robes! Does he spend all his off-hours doing push-ups and sit-ups or something? Why is a Potions Master so muscular? But yes, also THAT muscle was hard, and I was pressing myself so closely into him that very little was left to the imagination, and I wanted him… God, I wanted him. I wanted Severus Snape! He made me feel so alive, as though every cell in my body was vibrating at a frequency just reserved for him. And as I write this, I find that I want him all over again: his musky smell, his silky hair, his soft lips, his strong arms, his hard body. I want him to hold me again that way and kiss me again that way. I want him to light my body on fire again. I want him to take me tenderly, take me roughly, just… take me. I'm actually aching from want._

Sweet Mother of Merlin. No wonder she's learned Occlumency! She certainly didn't want me to read that in her mind. Hmph… "It was a mistake and it will never happen again," she told Poppy! The lying witch! Disconcertingly, I find that reading that passage has affected me in much the way that writing it seems to have affected her. My now-aching cock is straining in my trousers, which the cat has noticed, I imagine, as it stopped purring, gave me a rather disgruntled look and leapt lightly back to the floor. Its seat must have become considerably less comfortable. I am discomfited as well, sitting here in my aroused state next to a peacefully sleeping, apparently not-as-innocent-as-she-looks, Hermione.

The foolish girl doesn't know what's good for her. She may be interested in me physically, but I am not a man she could love. I am too old for her, too bitter. She is, presumably, out of immediate danger, meaning that I – particularly in my current state – have no business being here anymore. I rise slowly, and approach the bed again. She still sleeps, though she has rolled onto her back. Her hair fans out dark across the white pillowcase.

My mind battles my body as I look down at her sleeping form. Her journal expressed her desire for me, and part of me wants to ravage her, right now. She would be willing, from the sound of things. But I know her heart will never be mine, and that I should not take advantage of her in her current emotional state. Bending low, I brush my lips against hers – a compromise of sorts. A kiss that almost doesn't exist, and that she certainly won't remember. The corners of her mouth turn up and she rolls back to her side. I turn my back on her, place the journal on the beside table with its accessories, and leave, my footsteps as silent as when I entered, but my thoughts buzzing wildly in my head.

* * *

**Part two: Hermione**

A loud noise startles me from sleep. I am suddenly upright, and embarrassed to find myself in rumpled day clothes from yesterday, facing an unfamiliar house-elf.

"Breakfast for Miss Granger, Miss!" she sings cheerily. She offers a tray of coffee, cream, sugar, whole grain toast, butter, elderberry jam, poached eggs (my favorite), perfectly crisped bacon, and a small vase holding a rosebud. It's absolutely uncanny – exactly what I would have chosen for myself.

How thoughtful… but how strange.

"Thank you, um…, I'm sorry, but I don't know your name," I confess, grabbing my eagle-feather quill and using it to secure a makeshift bun of hair behind my neck.

The elf blushes wildly, and looks at her feet. "It's Dottie.

I take the tray. "Nice to meet you, Dottie, and thanks again for bringing my breakfast. But… how did you know I needed it? How did you even know I was here?"

"Dottie cannot say, Miss."

"Did someone send you?"

Floppy ears bob up and down as she nods. Could this be the work of my secret admirer? Who, actually, I think I dreamed about last night.

"But you can't say who he was?"

This time the ears shake in the negative.

"But it was a 'he' then that did it?"

Huge eyes meet mine, wide with terror. "Dottie didn't mean to say so!"

"It's okay, Dottie," I reassure her, "You didn't exactly say. I guessed as much. I do have one other question that I hope you can answer, though."

"What is it, Miss?" she asks, eagerly.

"Did you decide what to put on the tray, or did the man who sent you? The way the eggs are prepared? The rosebud? The flavor of jam?"

"Mister told Dottie exactly what he wanted, Miss. Dottie just did as she was told. Is it right, Miss?"

"It's perfect, Dottie. Thank you so much."

And with a pop, she disappears.

Though the breakfast looks delicious, I can't eat yet. I have a horrible taste in my mouth of stale tears and the first half of my Christmas dinner. As I brush my teeth and change into fresh clothes (more appropriate for a day at Hogwarts than for Christmas at the Burrow), I puzzle over the identity of my secret admirer. It must have been he who sent up breakfast… But I told no one I was coming back to the castle last night. I don't think I knew where I was going myself until I was halfway here. And, as everyone at Hogwarts was in the Dining Hall enjoying Christmas dinner, no one saw my return, except Peeves. And, obviously, Peeves is not my secret admirer. Whoever he is, he has been observing me carefully, as evidenced by the detail put into providing my favorite breakfast items. And he cares about my health and safety, making sure I don't starve when I skip a meal downstairs, and charming a pendant to act as a Dark magic detector.

Checking the mirror, I see that despite my best efforts, it is still obvious that I have been crying my eyes out – they are all puffy. Thank you, Mystery Man, whoever you are, for providing me with food so that I don't have to face anyone just yet.

I take the tray to my sitting room, and… sit. Though the breakfast nourishes me, my sadness from last night washes over me again. Am I doomed to eating by myself forever? It looks as though my future marriage to Ron is off again, for good this time. For years, I have imagined that I would someday be a part of that boisterous, loving family – holidays would always be crowded and chaotic, lots of nieces and nephews for me, and lots of aunts and uncles for my children. My own childhood was so quiet, so orderly, so controlled. Homework always done, teeth always brushed (my parents would be horrified that I fell asleep last night without brushing, let alone flossing), and family trips with just the three of us. Now… I have nothing. I don't have the quiet family life of my childhood, because for one thing, I'm no longer a child, and for another – my parents are still distant, though I maintain hope that things will improve with them one day. And I have probably lost the Weasleys, who I have loved fiercely, and who have been a second family for me since I was a teenager. They are woven into the fabric of my heart, all of them. But those cords have been cut, and that fabric is unraveling. I feel as if my life is unraveling. Who is left for me? Harry – though my friendship with him will certainly be more complicated if all the Weasleys, including his own wife, hate me now. Luna. Neville. Hagrid. Poppy, and Minerva. Filius. Can I count Severus as a friend? I'm not sure. Sometimes he seems like one. My secret admirer seems to be a friend, but unless I can figure out who he is, it may remain a very one-sided relationship, and therefore not as fulfilling as I would like.

Tears roll down my cheeks yet again, and splash on the breakfast tray. I can make new friends, of course, though I don't do that as quickly as some people do. Still, I'll survive. I'll just have to rewrite the future I had planned for myself.

Deciding to work on just that, I collect my journal, quill and ink from the bedside table. I must have really been a mess last night, leaving my journal here instead of on my writing desk, and neglecting to put on a nightgown or brush my teeth. I really don't remember much, except writing and crying. _New plan for the future_, I write in bold letters at the top of a fresh page. The ink comes out yellow. What does yellow mean again? I flip back through the pages for other examples. Ah, yes… the ink turns yellow when I am frightened, worried, or nervous. I guess that is how I feel. Funny that the ink seems to identify my feelings even better than I can.

I try an experiment. _The Weasleys are all angry with me_, I write. Blue ink. No surprise.

_I will not be marrying Ron,_ I write. Gold? What the hell is gold ink all about? I don't remember ever seeing that color before! It should have come out blue, also, because, of course, I am sad about not being Mrs. Ron Weasley. Unless I have some deeper feelings about this that I haven't been ready to admit to myself. Fascinating.

_My secret admirer cares deeply about me._ Silver? What is this? Is the ink just making up new colors today?

At lunchtime, I decide I am still not ready to face the staff and the few students who remained in the castle for the holiday. I could always eat the rest of my now-cold breakfast, as I really only picked at it earlier. I haven't gotten very far in rewriting my future, but I have done further research on the ink colors, and have startling results. I still can't figure out the silver, but the gold… I'm afraid the gold reflects happiness. _It is a beautiful day, I like to ride horses_, and _Luna is my friend_ all came up gold. What if… what if last night's break-up was actually a good thing? I'll have to ponder that concept.

Crack! Dottie is back with another tray of food.

"Goodness, Dottie! You startled me!"

"Dottie is sorry, Miss," she squeaks in alarm, "Is Miss hungry?" She glances in dismay at the only partly-eaten breakfast.

"I am, Dottie. Thank you."

She leaves the tray, and departs with another loud crack.

I do a little better with my lunch than I had with breakfast. Again, it was food I love: a turkey sandwich, a small salad of field greens and carrots, with poppy seed dressing, and a fresh, crisp apple. Mystery Man's selections are spot-on again.

After lunch, I decide to take a shower, and pick up around my quarters. If I need to rewrite my future, I may as well start with a clean slate.

By suppertime, I venture down to the Dining Hall.

"Hello, Poppy," I say as I take my seat. "Hello, Severus."

"Hermione!" exclaims Poppy. "What are you doing back here? I thought you'd be reading on a beach and sipping a brightly colored drink with a paper umbrella sticking out of it!"

I shrug. "Wasn't in the mood."

"What's the matter," Severus taunts, "Didn't you get what you wanted for Christmas?"

Oh, damn. I left the Burrow before the Christmas exchange. I didn't get anything at all for Christmas, other than the heart necklace from my secret admirer. Nor did I give any presents. I will send Harry his present via owl post tomorrow, but the rest of them can all do without, this year. I'm not feeling terribly charitable toward anyone with ginger hair at the moment.

"Actually, I did get this lovely necklace, Severus."

He eyes it, skeptically. "Who gave it to you?"

"My mysterious gift-giver! Didn't he do a fabulous job? You'll be impressed, Severus – it's more than just pretty."

"What do you mean? It does tricks as well?"

"Scoff all you like, Severus, but my Mystery Man obviously cares enough about me to try to keep me safe from harm. It's a Dark magic detector! It goes ice cold if I get within a few feet of something cursed."

"Really?" asks Poppy. "That's a very nice gift! Your secret admirer has quite a knack for picking gifts, doesn't he?"

"He does," I agree, turning to Poppy to give her a good look at the necklace. "He's very sweet. You know, I think I dreamed about him last night. I woke up feeling as though someone was watching over me, protecting me. I felt very safe and warm."

Behind me, Severus makes a choking noise. "What a lot of sentimental nonsense," he mutters.

* * *

**Part three: Severus**

I don't know why I am back here. I am again disillusioned, sitting in her armchair by the window, watching her sleep. Her cat has once again taken up residence on my lap, and rumbles happily as I stroke its back.

I don't have any excuse to be here. She did write in her journal this afternoon, but the ink colors have been all over the place, and never approached the blue-black of last night. Even if I had any worries about her mental stability, they would have been answered by now. Everything seems to be in order. Tonight, she managed to get herself into a nightgown, instead of sleeping in her clothes. Everything is in its proper place – the travel bag is unpacked, the shoes are in the closet, the journal is on her writing table, and the place looks considerably tidier than on my last visit. All the evidence suggests she has made an effort today to straighten out her life, to begin to move on.

Why, then, was I drawn here? The impassioned words from her journal have been hard to forget. She wants me to take her. I am more than able to do so, and… willing. That she has grown into a fine-looking young woman is unarguable. And my recollection of our kiss at Halloween closely parallels hers: the physical connection was powerful. I have no doubt that the sex would be… incendiary. Unforgettable.

And yet – I find myself alarmed at the very thought. It would not be the first time I was intimate with a former student, but… Hermione Granger! The most irritating witch I have known in… Oh, Merlin – in my whole life, I think. But then again, she is also the most impressive witch I have known in quite some time. She reminds me of Lily Evans in some ways – with her sharp mind, quick wand, fierce defense of the oppressed, and uncanny knack for hanging around with the biggest troublemakers in the school. Lily would have liked her. Perhaps that's why she and Harry get on so well. How did I ever get involved with so many Gryffindors?

I do have choice in the matter. I can refuse to get any further involved with this particular Gryffindor. I can – and should – keep our relationship strictly professional. Young intelligent women of marrying age are not interested in purely physical relationships – and that is all I could ever give her. Weasley was not the right man for her – as anyone could see, except, perhaps, the two of them – but as soon as she recovers from that disaster, she will be looking for romance elsewhere. She is already looking for it in her "Mystery Man," who she believes is "sweet" and who "cares" about her. I may be the man providing the gifts, but I am not the man she is expecting. I am not sweet, or caring, or romantic.

She rolls over in her sleep, flinging her arm across the bed. It sweeps the sheets, searching for something, and not finding it.

"Crookshanks?" she mutters. She stirs, sitting up, rubbing her eyes. "Crookshanks? Where are you?"

Damn! The cat is on my lap. If she looks over here and sees the cat perched on thin air, I will be discovered. I brush the cat onto the floor, and it lands with a soft thump of padded feet on hardwood floor.

"Who's there?" she asks, nervously. She clutches the blanket to her chest.

Neither the cat nor I reply, though Crookshanks – now I know the beast's name – leaps lightly onto the bed and walks across her lap, tail brushing under her chin. She strokes the cat, but looks my direction with a furrowed brow. I know my disillusion charm is working – my hand has been invisible as I've been petting her cat. She cannot see me.

"I feel you in this room," she says. "Is it you who has been leaving me gifts?"

I am silent.

"Was it you who sent Dottie with my breakfast and lunch today?"

Leave it to Hermione to know the name of every house-elf in the castle. I almost chuckle. It is a good thing I employed the Silencing charm before entering.

She shakes her head, and mutters to her cat, "Crookshanks, I must be losing my mind." The cat purrs, perhaps in agreement.

Tossing the blanket and sheets off, she stands, the lavender silk of her nightgown draping gracefully over her form. It scoops low across her breasts in the front, and when she turns toward the interior of the room, I see that it scoops even lower in the back, flares over her hips and the swell of her backside, and falls to her ankles. She crosses the room to her writing desk and sits gracefully in her chair, her posture erect as she lights a candle, uncaps the ink, and dips in her quill. I hear the nib scratching against the vellum, and curiosity propels me across the room to stand behind her as she writes. As I approach, she shivers, as though she can feel my proximity. I read over her shoulder, as the silvery words spill out onto the page. _I can feel your presence. I wish I could see you, speak with you, thank you for taking care of me. The sensation that you are here is so strong! Are you a ghost?_

I feel like a ghost. Being here, unseen, unheard. But the pounding of my heart, the blood rushing in my veins reminds me I am a man. Moving around beside her, but careful not to brush against her, my fingers close around her fingers, move the quill, form the word _No_.

* * *

**Part four: Hermione**

I gasp at the contact. The touch is electric, and I am now fully awakened, all my senses heightened. _Please_, I write in the journal – and it still comes out in the mysterious silver color – _touch me again_.

For several seconds, nothing happens. Then, suddenly, warm hands rest heavily on my shoulders. The pressure is the only thing that holds me down. I feel as though I could levitate.

_That feels nice_, I write. It is an understatement of the highest degree. I am afraid to move, lest the hands disappear again.

They begin to move, slowly, massaging my neck, my shoulders. I sigh deeply as the large, strong hands work halfway down my back, and then back up again to my shoulders. I sink into their ministrations, realizing how tense I have been over the past several days. Some small part of my brain wonders why I am so comfortable, so trusting, of a man who has obviously disillusioned himself and sneaked into my quarters in the middle of the night. I have no answer. All I know is that I do trust this presence. I feel no fear, no doubt. He is not here to hurt me. In fact, my Mystery Man once again seems to know exactly what I need. His touch is firm, yet gentle, kneading my heated flesh. The tenderness of his care is almost too much to bear. To think that he could sink away again into the darkness, as if he were never here! I must have more of this man.

_I love the way you touch me,_ I write. And then, more daring, _May I touch you?_

The hands stop their movement, and then… one hand slides to my shoulder. The other, his right, disappears momentarily, only to reappear as a fingertip. It strokes down the left side of my back, lifts. Reappears at my left scapula, and strokes down and to the right, before lifting again. Then it strokes down the right side before finally drawing a circle in the center of my back. _No_, he has written again, but this time I am the page.

If I can't get my hands on him, perhaps…lips? _Will you kiss me? _flows from my quill… and the ink has changed to purple. I know what that one means.

In answer, the invisible hands sweep my hair off my neck, I quiver involuntarily. Warm breath and then soft lips touch me in a lingering kiss, at the juncture of my neck and shoulder. I am on fire.

* * *

**Part five: Severus**

The flesh of her neck is hot under my lips, and she moans in pleasure. The sound pierces me, goes straight to my cock, which stands now at attention.

The quill falls from her limp hand as her body totally surrenders to me. She wants me – she's aching for me. But not really for me. For her secret admirer. It would be wrong of me to take advantage of her under these false pretenses. Although she is obviously ready for me, and I for her, I cannot let this go too far. It is time to stop, before something happens that we both regret in the morning.

I move away from her and she whimpers with the loss of contact. Her eyes, half-closed and glazed with lust, see the quill rise in the air as I pick it up. I dip it in the ink again, and write the instruction: _Go back to sleep._

"But how can I sleep," she whispers urgently, "knowing you are here?"

_Let me help_, I write.

She rises slowly, and I notice a slight quiver as she blows out the candle. Her breathing is quick and shallow. She walks to her bed, and sinks into it. I pull the blankets over her, and sit down near her pillow. She faces the window; the moonlight falls on her pale shoulders and her full lips, gently parted as her breath slows slightly.

I stroke her hair, which is glossy and almost black in the silvery light. At first, she moans and sighs: she wants more from me, but I cannot give it. Eventually, the rhythmic motion soothes her, relaxes her, and her breathing becomes deeper and slower. She must be exhausted from the stress of the previous days, because as soon as she lets herself sink into a state of calm, she falls asleep.

Just as I did last night, I let myself out silently. And once again, my thoughts are anything but quiet. I am horrified at what I have done, what I have started. I am more horrified by what I saw. When I wrote in her journal tonight, to my dismay, my words were silver. It cannot be true! It simply makes no sense. But there it was…. My words were written in… love.

* * *

_A/N: Well I posted this one faster than I had expected: I just couldn't wait to get to this part! If you read "Hermione Granger and the Sleepless Nights" you'll recognize my Disillusioned and Silencio'd Severus – that scene got me quite intrigued, and gave me the idea for a disillusioned Severus being an invisible lover. _

_(Not that this is a sequel to that story – I think you can tell in this one that Hermione & Severus were not flirtatious in her fifth year the way they were in that story, and her reaction to Poppy talking about Remus would have been stronger as well - not to mention her reaction to George's joke about having a threesome with her!) _

_So… goodness… it's taken me 35,000 words to get here. Phew! Now… let's see where I go NEXT! It's only December 26, and they're supposed to be working together for the entire school year. Plenty of time for things to get very, very interesting… Muwahahaha!_


	7. Chapter 7: Happy New Year

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the characters or setting – those belong to JK Rowling, to whom I am eternally grateful for creating the Potterverse. I'm just taking a couple of her characters out for a spin, but promise to return them, only slightly the worse for wear.

_A/N 1: This story is AU in that Severus Snape did not die. A rather brainy brunette saved him after Nagini's attack in DH. As much as is possible, I'll make this canon-compliant, though I'm ignoring the epilogue._

_A/N 2: Special thanks, as always, to Felena1971, my trusty co-author/beta reader for getting my (creative) juices flowing... She is also entirely responsible for Luna's pajamas._

**Chapter 7: Happy New Year**

* * *

**Part one: Severus**

Love! I cannot love her… I can barely tolerate her! I do not want to love her. I do not want to work with her. I do not want to think about her.

And yet: I cannot stop thinking about her. Sitting next to her at every meal does nothing to help.

She has obviously recovered from the depths of despair of several nights ago, as she is almost bouncing in her seat this morning. Honestly – she should be instructed in the fine art of brooding over things. How can anyone rebound so quickly? She is humming as she butters her toast. What's next, bluebirds joining her in song?

"What are you so cheerful about?" I ask, sneering.

"What's not to be cheerful about? It's a beautiful day, Severus, and I, for one, plan to make the most of it. I believe I'll go ice-skating this afternoon. Would you like to join me?"

Before I can formulate a reply to this bizarre invitation, Poppy interrupts from Hermione's other side.

"Really, Hermione, what's going on with you? You have seemed so lighthearted these past couple of days. Giddy, almost."

She really does have beautiful teeth, now that they are all the proper size. She flashes a brilliant, dentists'-daughter smile at me, then turns to bestow it upon Poppy. "Lighthearted is a good word for it, Poppy," she agrees. "I feel almost as though a great weight has been lifted."

"Would this great weight have the initials RW and a shock of ginger hair, by any chance?" Leave it to Poppy to pry.

Hermione laughs merrily. "I'm sure that's a part of it. But even more than that – and I don't want this to sound awful, because I do love them – it wasn't just Ron, it was my entire future as part of the Weasley clan. At first I was heartbroken about it, but now I have this strange sense of freedom. I feel unanchored – cut loose – and it's not bothering me. My future had been written for me for so long. I could look ahead twenty years and imagine what my life would be like. And now – now my life suddenly feels like a grand adventure to me. I can't say where I will be in twenty years, and that's rather exciting!"

I, too, can imagine what her life would have been like in twenty years, had she married Weasley. Any Weasley. She would have been bored out of her skull. She is not a woman who should be keeping house and raising a brood. She should be learning, possibly teaching, and definitely traveling. I could show her some of the medicinal plants in Bali, perhaps. I am sure she would find them fascinating.

Speaking of Bali… "Weren't you planning on going to a beach somewhere?" I ask her. "Term doesn't start for several more days. You could still go."

"Why Severus Snape," she answers, teasing me, "are you trying to get rid of me?"

I feel my face get warm, and can only hope I am not blushing. Blushing is unbecoming of a Snape. As it turns out, I do not know WHAT I am trying to do. One moment I am, in fact, wishing I did not have to spend so much time around her, and the next I am envisioning myself tramping through a Balinese jungle with her, harvesting moss from a rock behind a waterfall.

"I've decided not to go to Bali this holiday," she continues. "Things here at Hogwarts are developing nicely. And you know, Severus, if I'm going to be here, and you're going to be here… we don't have to wait until term starts to resume our work. We might be able to make some real headway without your teaching schedule to work around."

"I- um…" I stammer, which is also behavior unbecoming of a Snape. Wasn't I just thinking I did not want to work with her any longer? Why, then, did I almost suggest we start work tomorrow?

"That's a great idea, Hermione," agrees Poppy, the meddling old woman. "You've got over a week before the students return. Just imagine what you could learn in that time, having Severus all to yourself!"

Unbidden, memories of our heated Halloween kiss sear my brain, and I imagine precisely what she could learn in that time, having me all to herself. My traitorous cock twitches in my pants. Silently, I curse myself, praise the opacity of oaken tables, and shake the images from my head. That is NOT what we will be doing with this unanticipated time together.

Hermione turns to me, an eager smile on her face. "What do you say, Severus? I probably wouldn't be able to start until January 2, though. I am going to London to spend New Year's Eve with Luna, and won't be back at Hogwarts until late the next day. But after that, I'm all yours!"

She's all mine? She is NOT all mine. She practically threw herself at her Mystery Man, the other night – and I am sure her mind was on him when she said things at Hogwarts were developing nicely. Hmph. She doesn't even know him. Well, of course she DOES know him. She just doesn't KNOW that she knows him, which is the same thing.

Some alien force has taken control of my motor functions, apparently, as I am nodding in assent. I can only assume this is the same alien force responsible for the silver ink when I wrote to her three nights ago. So, that's it, then. I'll be spending hours and hours alone with the most frustrating witch alive, doing my best not to grab hold of her in either anger or passion.

Having breakfasted, Hermione has risen and moved down the staff table to invite others to go skating with her this afternoon. I watch her go, resisting the urge to bang my head on the table.

Six hours later I am atop the Astronomy tower, watching the skaters through one of the telescopes. She has gathered a dozen students and staff members, who for the most part slip, slide, and crash into each other. The surrounding mountains strangely amplify their laughter. Yet a few of them exhibit considerable ice-skating skill. Who knew Neville Longbottom was graceful at anything? He looks as though he grew up on ice skates, as he escorts Hannah Abbot around the lake, skating backward and holding her hands to help her balance. The other surprise is Filius. He is quite a speedy skater, looping around all the others, kicking up ice shavings when he changes direction abruptly. It does not surprise me that Hermione is a gifted skater. She practices figure eights and spins, balanced on one leg. She is as elegant as a swan.

At dinner, she is pink-cheeked and breathless, and eats ravenously.

"Oh, Severus," she coos, "you simply must come with us the next time. It was so much fun. Even you would have a good time."

I scowl at her, but it is as if she has cast a Protego charm: the scowl seems to bounce off the joy she is emanating, as she finishes up and bids us all goodnight. Before I have even finished my meal, I feel the inkbottle get warm in my pocket. I don't need to look to know it has turned gold.

And now I stand in her quarters, once again hidden from view. I did not intend to come. After dinner, I went for a walk, rolling the warm, golden bottle in my hand. I strode briskly along the edge of the lake, my mind's eye seeing them all skating there earlier in the day. No, in truth, my mind's eye saw only Hermione. She wrote only briefly, perhaps a quarter of an hour, and the ink's color did not waver. She must have gone to bed early, her limbs tired from the day's exertions. As I walked, my mind still churned over the inkbottle's strange behavior at my last visit – could I really love her? And if so, what possible good could come of it? She could never love me, of this I am sure.

I suppose that is why I have come, why my feet turned themselves this way, why I disillusioned myself and stepped through her door. In lieu of her love, I shall bask in her joy. It was radiating from her in almost palpable waves earlier in the evening. Will being near her in her current state bring me a vicarious experience of joy? It is an emotion I have not permitted myself to feel in a very long time. Even when the Dark Lord was brought down, I felt no joy – only a sense that I had lost my purpose.

* * *

**Part two: Hermione**

Oh, my aching ankles! I had so much fun skating today that I went rather overboard and didn't stop, even when my feet and legs started to protest. Only when the light faded to dusk did I come in off the lake, grab a quick dinner, and come up to my quarters. I've been soaking my sore muscles in a warm bath. But as I step out of the tub onto the floor, my ankles still object to my putting weight on them.

A glass of wine and a little light reading before bed ought to be the perfect ending to a glorious day. I towel dry my hair, and brush it out gently. Pulling my blue chenille bathrobe around me, I leave the steamy warmth of the bathroom and limp to my bookshelf. I must have something here that would be just right… Poetry, perhaps.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Crookshanks behaving oddly. I straighten from where I have been perusing the bottom shelf. He looks drunk – he is weaving around, almost toppling over… And all of a sudden it hits me. He's rubbing on Mystery Man's legs.

I focus my gaze about six feet from the floor (hoping he is tall), directly above where Crookshanks is purring indecently, and say into the apparent void, as nonchalantly as possible, "Welcome back." The last time he was here, I practically threw myself at him. This time, I will maintain better self-control. I gesture to the couch. "I was just… unwinding. Won't you join me?"

There is, of course, no answer. The conversation may wind up being a bit one-sided this evening.

"Why won't you speak?"

Again, of course, there is only silence. I shrug, and step gingerly toward the couch, my ankles screaming at me to stop. The couch looks very far away. I take another step and wince. Suddenly, a strong arm wraps around my waist, supporting me. I am pressed to his side, and can tell that he is, indeed, tall, lean, and strong. He assists me gently the rest of the way, and I curl up against one arm of the couch, blushing, embarrassed to look so weak. I tuck my feet up next to me, carefully, realizing that I am quite nude under my bathrobe, and making sure it covers everything it should.

"Thank you," I say to the air. "My ankles are quite sore from excessive ice-skating today. It's been a long time since I was last on the ice."

An indentation appears in the cushion on the other end of the couch, and then… warm hands grasp my ankles and pull my legs straight. My feet are now in his lap, and he is gently rubbing my ankles, one in each hand. I wince again, and he stops.

"No, please don't stop," I beg, "I'm a bit sore, but the massage feels good." So much for self-control. I'm already pleading for contact.

He places my left foot in his lap, and massages my right foot with both of his strong hands. His thumbs knead the ball of my foot, then stroke my arch with the perfect amount of pressure. When he returns to the ankle he is gentle again. My right leg has become putty in his hands. I close my eyes (nothing to see, anyway) and lean back against the arm of the couch, sighing. Movement on a larger scale makes me open them again – he has braced my foot against his chest – it is hard under my sole – and is massaging my calf muscle. In a moment of self-consciousness, I recheck my bathrobe, and decide that I am still covered modestly enough. He finds a tender spot, about two inches above my ankle on the inside of my leg, and I inhale sharply. He eases up on the pressure, and works through the knot gently but persistently. Again I relax back, and close my eyes.

So far, my visitor seems like the perfect man. Other than the fact that he's invisible, of course. I would dearly love to see him. But he brings me thoughtful presents, protects me from curses, sends me my favorite foods, gives a marvelous back rub, and now performs post-skating massage therapy. And doesn't talk about Quidditch all the time. Maybe there are benefits to his silence. I smile to myself, knowing that even if he sees my expression he won't ask me to explain it. Yes, I think I'll keep him. He can come here any night he wants and be my own, personal, invisible, silent masseur. I'm certain I can keep coming up with body parts for him to rub. Oh – I must stop that train of thought! My face grows warm, and… maybe some other places, too. I hope he doesn't notice.

He switches to massaging my left foot, leaving my now very relaxed right foot in his lap. Again, those strokes up the arch of my foot – god, that feels heavenly.

"Did you know," I murmur, "there are 7,000 nerve endings in the foot?" Anatomy was one of my strong subjects in my training. I loved learning about the architecture of the human body – what a miraculous piece of work we are.

He lifts my foot, but instead of placing it on his chest, as he'd done with my right one, it is lifting slightly higher, and – ahhhh! – a kiss, so gentle, just brushing against the highest point of my arch. I arch: my whole body becomes that shape, heat pools between my legs, and I gasp for air.

The foot descends, and now takes its place on his chest. All 7,000 nerve endings are tingling, and I can feel the texture of his clothing, the hardness of his body, the heat of him even, as he begins to work on my calf muscles.

Somehow, my senses seem to be heightened on the other foot as well. I brush my right foot against the fabric of his trousers. Ah, yes… he keeps his perfect man status – I feel his growing erection and it does not disappoint me. I explore his lap with my toes, and feel him shiver. He is fully erect. My mouth is watering. But I seem to have distracted him from the calf massage – his hands have stopped, as if he doesn't know what to do.

I know what to do.

I pull my feet back, tuck them under me, and rise to my knees on the couch. My palm slides along the couch until it makes contact with his knee, then slides up his thigh. How does one make love to an invisible man? I'm sure I can figure it out as I go – I'll just have to feel my way, as if I were with a visible man but in total darkness. Though it seems a bit unfair that he can see me. I reach his groin and he shivers again, but I continue stroking upward, past his belly, which sucks in as if he is gasping, up to his chest. His breathing is accelerated, I notice, as I stroke over his left nipple on my way toward his shoulder and neck.

His hand catches my wrist, and lifts it away from him. Why? I so want to touch his face, to brush my thumb across his lips and then lean in for a kiss.

As if he heard my thoughts, he lifts my hand toward his face, bringing his lips to my fingertips, then kissing my palm, then the inside of my wrist. Then he gently leads me back to my side of the couch, and rises, the cushion regaining its original shape.

Argh! This is killing me! Where is he going, and why? Please, please, I beg silently, take me up, carry me to my bed, and DO NOT STOP kissing and caressing me!

The door opens. No, he can't be leaving! Not now – not… "Wait!" I call after him, and the door remains open. Is he waiting there, listening, or has he just gone and left the door open? I move toward the door, arms stretched out in front of me, but before I can reach him – to do what, exactly? – his hand catches mine, stopping me. I echo his parting gesture by raising his hand to my lips, brushing his fingertips there, then kissing his palm. I fold his fingers around my cheek, cradling my face in his palm. He smells good – musky and a little spicy. I inhale deeply. Then, I kiss his wrist, feeling his pulse racing under my lips.

"Don't go." I tell his wrist. "Stay. With me."

He pulls his arm back from me. He has no intention of staying. I suppose it was rather brazen of me to invite him to stay. I don't even know who he is! But I know how I feel when he is here, and I want more of it. It's ridiculous to say that I love him – how can you love a man you don't know? But… I can say that I love how he makes me feel: sexy, alive, safe, happy. I want to know how he feels when we are together. He was obviously aroused tonight, but… other than that. Does he feel safe and happy with me? Does he feel as alive as I feel, as though each heartbeat is stronger, each breath fuller, and each sensation multiplied?

He hasn't gone yet. I can still feel the heat radiating from him. "Then come again," I tell him. "Soon. And… I would love it if you would show yourself to me. I- I want to know you. All of you. Your face, your voice. Everything. You've given me so much, and I just want to be able to return your attentions. Please let me make you feel as good as you've made me feel."

After a moment, the door closes. I can tell he is gone – the room just feels emptier. Well, there's no way I'm going to be able to get to sleep anytime soon after that! I collect the wine bottle and a goblet, and my trusty journal, ink, and quill, and settle myself again on the couch. On second thought… I switch to the other seat – to HIS side of the couch. It is still warm where he sat. I sip my cabernet, and sink into the warmth he left behind.

* * *

**Part three: Luna**

"Help me with this, Luna," she says. "I'm too drunk to do it myself!"

I step behind her to untie the halter of her red velvet party dress, then return to sit on my bed as she wiggles the dress down over her hips, her breasts jiggling throughout the shimmying process. Her breasts are larger than mine. Her hips are curvier, too. The dress accentuated all of her womanly curves. She looked stunning tonight.

"Red is a beautiful color on you, Hermione," I tell her, as the dress falls to her feet. It also happens to be a beautiful color on my floor.

"Yes, that black-haired boy seemed to think so," she snickers, and slides her silky lavender nightgown over her head. It flows over her curves. That color looks good on her, too.

"Did you even get his name?" I stand, and she helps me pull my stretchy silver tank top over my head, and tosses it into the corner, where it shimmers like a lake in the moonlight. I do so enjoy having Hermione stay the night.

"Oh, he told me, but I don't remember. Something like… Bob, or Rob, or Rod…"

"Mmm hmmm. And was Bob-Rob-Rod a good kisser?"

She squeals, and collapses onto my bed in a fit of giggles.

They'd been dancing off and on throughout the evening, but after he kissed her at midnight, they snogged for the next two songs.

I didn't mind. I had two boys talking to me, each trying to convince me that he was the better kisser. I never could decide, even after considerable testing. I think I like going to muggle bars where no one knows us and we can do as we like without having to worry about showing up on the front page of the Daily Prophet. We should do this every New Year's Eve.

I continue to undress, unzipping my low-slung black silk pencil skirt, slipping it off my hips, and kicking it into the corner as well. My bra and panties follow. Hermione is lying on my pajamas. I roll her off of them, and put them on, slipping first one foot and then the other into the pajama feet, and zipping the long zipper up the front.

"So, was he?" Her giggles have subsided. I climb onto the bed next to her, lying on my belly, and prop myself up on my elbows. My crossed ankles rock forward and back, forward and back.

"He was very good," she finally answers. "But nowhere near as face-meltingly good as Severus. I kept comparing the poor boy's kisses to Severus's, and he kept coming up short."

"Well, it sounded at Christmas Eve as if Severus would be hard to top in the kissing department. Have you kissed him again?"

"No." She actually pouts a little as she says it. I wonder if she knows she's doing that.

"Why not? Is all the mistletoe infected with Nargles again?"

"No, I just don't think it would be right. He's a good kisser, but we're definitely not a couple. We work together, and besides, he doesn't like me much. I think he barely puts up with me, even though I try to be nice to him." She rolls to her side to face me, and immediately starts laughing again.

"Hermione, are you laughing at my pajamas again? I've told you a hundred times, the unicorns are NOT having sex! It's an ancient prosperity dance."

No one appreciates my pajamas. I think they are wonderful – they illustrate all 72 steps of the unicorns' dance. I've counted.

She wipes the tears of mirth from her eyes. "If that's the case, then I'd dearly love to perform the ancient unicorn prosperity dance with my Mystery Man," she sighs, flopping onto her back again. "Particularly dance step number 69 – that one looks like it could be a LOT of fun!"

Apparently, tequila works almost as well as firewhiskey. Hermione is trashed.

"So, have things gotten physical with your secret admirer? Has more happened just since I saw you at Christmas? It's only been a week!"

"Oh, loads," she sighs again, even more wistfully than before.

She spins a thrilling tale of a silent and invisible man, who has an uncanny knack for knowing all of her favorite foods, massages her wherever she is sore or tense, and kisses almost every sensitive place on her body. Well, except a few, but she's hoping he'll get to those on his next visit.

"What does he look like?" I ask.

"Luna – he's invisible. He doesn't look like anything other than empty space."

"No, no – I got that part. I mean, what have you been able to determine about his face and his body from what you have felt?"

"Well… I believe he is tall – six feet, give or take an inch, is my guess. He's quite lean and muscular. His hands are strong, with long fingers. He…"

"Go on," I urge her. I'm trying to build the picture in my head as she describes him.

"He seems to be more than adequately endowed," she giggles again.

Interesting information, to be sure, but it's not going to help me identify the man. Well, probably not.

"What about his face," I ask. How do I top off this tall, lean, long-fingered, well-endowed man of hers?

"He's never really let me touch his face. The closest I've gotten is that he brushed my fingers against his lips. They were soft, and the lower lip seemed quite full."

"His hair? Long or short? Straight or curly?"

"I don't know. I haven't gotten to feel it."

Oh, Merlin. That clinches it.

"You know him," I tell her.

"What makes you say so?"

"He is taking such care to hide his voice, his face, and his hair, because if he didn't, you would know his identity."

"You're probably right. I wish I knew who he is! I can't imagine why he's being so secretive. I was rather bold when he visited last night. I made it clear, I think, that I am attracted to him. Why does he insist on staying hidden?" It sounds almost as if it is painful to her, this not knowing. But what will she think when she figures it out?

"Have you considered just… exposing him?" I lean forward, and look her in the eyes. I mean to challenge her. She has the power to learn what she says she wants to know. I wonder if she suspects, but prefers the fantasy to the reality.

"Finite incantatem?" she whispers.

I nod.

She looks away from me. "I couldn't do that to him. It would be… I don't know, invasive, somehow. He's hiding himself for a reason, and even though I don't know what that reason is, I have to respect it. I want to know who he is, but I want him to show me willingly. It needs to be his choice. I just hope he makes the choice soon, because I might explode if he keeps getting me so worked up and then LEAVING!"

She's going to explode one way or another: from not knowing, from getting too aroused and being left hanging, from actually having a sexual encounter with him, or from finding out who he is and going ballistic. In fact, I predict a series of explosions. The only mystery left is what their order will be.

* * *

**Part four: Severus**

New Year's Eve. By which calendar? Shall I celebrate the new year at the Winter Solstice? In February, with the Chinese? At the Spring Equinox, with the Iranians? Or tonight, December 31? The Celts celebrate in late October; Punjabis in mid-April. Tonight's date is meaningless. Yet wizards and muggles all over Great Britain feel obligated to drink to excess, kiss people they don't know at midnight, and make promises for the new year that they have no intention of keeping. It's a lovely tradition. It practically ensures that they begin every January with a splitting headache and a side helping of guilt.

If anything, August 31 is my New Year's Eve. I've been living and working according to the Hogwarts scholastic calendar so long that September 1 will always feel like the beginning of a new year to me.

I treat this night no differently than I do any other winter night. The fire blazes in my hearth. I drink in moderation – tonight it is firewhiskey. I am alone – no kissing anyone, known to me or unknown, at midnight or any other hour. Nor do I make any promises, to myself or to anyone else.

What to do with myself, though? I am lacking for entertainment. As we are between terms, I do not have papers to mark. And the enchanted inkbottle has remained cold all evening. She must be too busy with Lovegood to spend any time writing. I scan my bookshelf, just as I saw Hermione doing last night. But I am feeling too restless for reading – I need to be doing something more active.

As usual, I find myself in my storeroom, perusing the shelves of ingredients. What shall I make tonight? Poppy usually needs extra Pepperup Potion this time of year; I could brew up a batch of that for her.

My favorite knife feels good in my hand. Yes, this is what I need to be doing. Brewing potions is a purposeful, yet meditative activity. I prepare the initial ingredients: diced daisy root to shrink inflamed tissues, chopped ginger to counteract dullness, and shredded peppermint leaves to open up stuffy noses. Their combined scent is a heady mix of sweet and spicy.

She smelled that way, after her bath. She uses a lavender scented soap, but her skin lotion has some spice to it: sandalwood, I'm certain. Her skin was very soft, and smelled quite enticing. Gods, that evening did not go as planned. I thought she would be asleep, and I would just… sit in her chair, pet her cat, and watch her sleep for a bit. I suppose that sounds sinister. However, I don't feel like a voyeur. My intentions were not prurient. But then there she was, freshly scrubbed, practically naked, wet ringlets of hair on her shoulders… And helpless. Unable even to walk. I couldn't just leave her like that. So I all but carried her to the couch, and worked on her sore muscles.

I set the cauldron on a low flame and add the prepared roots and leaves. Soon wisps of steam rise into the cool air of the dungeon.

Heat. Steam. We were not lacking in heat last night. I could almost see steam rising off of her when I rubbed her feet. Her feet were beautiful – delicate ankles, gracefully high arches, pink toes slightly wrinkled from soaking too long in the bath. When she began talking about the sensitivity of feet, I was seized with an irresistible urge to confirm the statistic. And while I cannot verify the exact number of nerve endings in the foot, I can say for certain that they are, indeed, quite sensitive. Just the merest brush of lips in the highest part of her arch, and the expression on her face was practically orgasmic.

Next the delicate part of the operation: equal parts fluxweed and knotgrass. I measure them out carefully, and stir them together in a small bowl. If they are not balanced perfectly, they are explosive. But when they are evenly matched, they work together harmoniously and the potion triples in effectiveness.

I bring the mixture to a low boil, careful not to let it scorch. The trick is to not get overeager and turn up the flame too high. A skilled potion-maker has patience. This is where most students struggle. Young people are rarely patient.

She is not patient at all. She was not content with a mere massage last night. She would have rushed right to sex, if I had let her have her way. The way she was moaning and writhing from my touch left no doubt in my mind. I, on the other hand, showed restraint. Even with the sight of her on that couch, eyes closed, neck exposed, bathrobe slightly loosened and showing creamy thigh, hinting at the softness still under wraps… Even when she arched off the couch and cried out in pleasure… I was under control. Keeping the flame low, as it were. At least until she started stroking my cock with her foot, but who could be expected to maintain control under those conditions? And when I paused to regain control, she prowled across the couch. I didn't need Legilimency to know what she was thinking – it was written all over her face.

I was tempted. I might even have given her what she wanted if it could be done without her identifying me. But I cannot have her learn that I am her 'Mystery Man.' I am the knotgrass to her fluxweed: things tend to go terribly wrong between us. But if things were to go right, if we got the balance perfect, it could be… spectacular. Our kiss at Halloween suggests that we have potential for greatness. I was quite tempted… and I knew that if I didn't leave, I would give in to her desire. And mine.

But I kept my head, peeled her off of me, and moved toward the door. She didn't make it easy, following me, begging me to stay, lighting my hand on fire with her lips. My heart pounded and my cock throbbed. I admit I want her. But I cannot love her. Had the ink come out purple, I would have had no argument. But silver… And then she bade me return, soon, and asked if I would reveal myself to her. So that she could return my attentions, she said, make me feel as good as I have made her feel.

I have been making Hermione Granger feel good. What the hell is wrong with me? My life was so well ordered until this year. I knew who I was – the crusty, dangerous Potions Master. Then she comes back into my life, and I find I am behaving in ways that make no sense to me. Creeping around the castle, invisible, as if I were The Boy Who Lived to Break Rules. Buying her gifts. Worrying about her. Taking care of her when she is in emotional or physical pain. What in the name of Salazar Slytherin is wrong with me?

Perhaps Lovegood is onto something with her Wrackspurt theory. If Hermione does not wear the damned brooch, then maybe she would let me borrow it. I imagine her face if I were to ask for the Wrackspurt-repelling brooch, and laugh out loud – further evidence that I am not myself.

The mixture has simmered long enough: most of the liquid has been absorbed. This blends the ingredients so that each enhances the others. Add the pomegranate juice now, for its flavor and high ascorbic acid content, and then the final ingredient – ground poblano pepper seeds. Hence the potion's name – the peppers are the key ingredient for curing colds. Sometimes, a little spice is exactly what you need.

* * *

**Part five: Hermione**

_I slide my hand across his groin and he shivers again, his hot, hard erection straining against the fabric of his trousers. My mouth waters – I long to free him from his clothing, put my lips on the velvety head, slide my tongue up his shaft, and take him slowly into my mouth, sucking and stroking until he cries my name… But I continue stroking upward, past his belly, which sucks in as if he is gasping, up to his chest. His breathing is accelerated, as I stroke over his left nipple on my way toward his shoulder and neck. I touch his face, brush my thumb across his lips and then lean in for a kiss. We bump noses clumsily in our haste to taste each other's lips. I tilt my head to the side, and our lips meet, tongues sliding hot into each other's mouths. I reach up to pull him closer to me, my hands threading into his long, silky black hair…_

I wake with a gasp, panting, staring around me in the darkness. It was a dream – only a dream. I am at Luna's, she is warm beside me in the big bed. She rolls toward me, rubbing her eyes.

"All right, 'Mione?" she mumbles.

I pat her arm soothingly, even though I'm the one who's shaking. "I just figured out who my Mystery Man is, Luna. My god – it's Severus. Severus Snape."

"Duh," she says, and rolls onto her back again. "I was wondering how long it would take you. Now go back to sleep, it's five in the morning."

I can't sleep. My mind reels with the implications. I sit up and shake her – she has no business trying to sleep when my world just exploded.

"Luna, did you hear me? It's Severus. Severus Snape has been leaving me gifts, sneaking invisible into my quarters, kissing my goddamned foot! Merlin, no wonder he knew what I liked to eat! He's been sitting right fucking next to me at almost every meal for four months! Luna – I- I- I wanted him. Oh fuck – I nearly had sex with Severus Snape. Luna – are you listening to me? I begged Severus Snape to spend the night with me, and I'm pretty fucking sure that neither of us would have gotten much sleep! Oh, my god!" I'm getting hysterical. My heart is beating too fast, and my mind is spinning. I feel a bit woozy, and bury my head in my hands.

She sits up, and wraps her arms around me. I can't tell if I'm laughing or crying, but tears are squeezing between my fingers, and I'm trembling.

Her hug is soothing, calming. After a minute or two, I regain a small bit of composure. "So what are you going to do about it?" she asks me gently.

What AM I going to do about it? I could confront him. I could do nothing, and let things continue until he decides to reveal himself to me, eventually.

"I don't know, Luna. I don't know. But I'm spending all day with him tomorrow. I'm not sure I'll be able to breathe around him."

"Don't worry. It will be fine. Try to get some more sleep, and we can talk about this later, okay? We'll figure it out." She lies back down, and I do too. I turn away from her, facing the wall, knowing that I am done sleeping for the night, but hoping not to keep her awake as well. She strokes my back, kisses my shoulder. "It'll be okay, Hermione," she whispers. The stroking slows, stops. Her breathing is deep and even once more, and I am left alone, trying to reconcile my feelings for my Mystery Man with my feelings for Severus. My kind, thoughtful, sexy Mystery Man – and my grumpy, sarcastic, forbidding colleague. Somehow, they are the same man. Severus has always been a mystery to me, and now… Now I really don't know what to think. Perhaps he keeps everyone at a distance so that no one can get past his crusty exterior to find that he has a warm and loving heart hidden deep inside.

Perhaps I can break through his defenses.

If it is Severus – and I now have no doubt that it is – he has brought me so much pleasure lately. And I would like to do the same for him, if he would let me. But the infuriating man shuns pleasure as if it were a curse – avoiding chocolate, scowling on hayrides, turning down ice-skating invitations, pushing me away when I try to touch him, and leaving my quarters when I beg him to stay. He's not going to make this easy, but I am not easily daunted.

I love a good challenge.

* * *

_A/N: Sorry it took a bit longer to get this update ready for you! I hope it was worth the wait._


	8. Chapter 8: New Years Realizations

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the characters or setting – those belong to JK Rowling, to whom I am eternally grateful for creating the Potterverse. I'm just taking a couple of her characters out for a spin, but promise to return them, only slightly the worse for wear.

_A/N 1: This story is AU in that Severus Snape did not die. A rather brainy brunette saved him after Nagini's attack in DH. As much as is possible, I'll make this canon-compliant, though I'm ignoring the epilogue._

_A/N 2: Special thanks, as always, to Felena1971, my co-author/beta-reader, who is so hugely helpful and creative, and who let me read her the first half of this story over her cell phone while she was shopping in Walmart. This story wouldn't be ANYWHERE near as good without her help._

**Chapter 8: New Years Realizations**

* * *

**Part one: Harry**

"Snape?"

"Yes, Harry," she says, rolling her eyes at me. "How many other Severuses do you know?"

I love Hermione, but she can make me feel like an idiot sometimes. Frequently, in fact.

The girls sent over an owl first thing this morning – it banged on the window at an obscene hour for any day, but especially for January 1 – to invite me to Luna's flat because they had figured out the identity of the secret admirer and wanted to talk with me. Ginny was not explicitly invited, nor was she specifically asked not to come, but given the subject matter, she decided it was best if she stayed home anyway. I was pretty curious to hear Hermione's theory, and also rather puzzled about why she wanted to talk with me about it. What could her secret admirer have to do with me? So I tossed back some hangover potion, got dressed, shoved a doughnut in my mouth as I pulled on my trainers, kissed Ginny goodbye, and flooed over as quickly as I could.

The girls are still in their pajamas, and Luna is bustling in the kitchenette of her small, bright flat, making coffee for the three of us. I glance around the place, my eye drawn to the heap of dressy-looking clothes in the corner, and the large bed under the window. They must have shared it last night, as Luna doesn't even own a couch, and the bed's two pillows both look slept-upon.

Is it wrong of me to wish I could have been here last night in my invisibility cloak? Luna and Hermione in bed together… No – really, I'm sure it was a perfectly innocent sleepover. And besides, Hermione is one of my best friends. And besides that, I am married. But still… I am a man, and cannot help but notice Hermione looks delectable in her nightgown. Luna looks ridiculous in her pajamas, but unless I'm very much mistaken, the print on them is overtly sexual. When my brain starts to ponder the issue of what, if anything, either girl is wearing under her pajamas (and noting that Hermione's silky gown would certainly show panty lines if she WERE wearing anything), I know it's time to divert my train of thought onto another track. Quickly. Unless I'd like to embarrass myself greatly, I need to think of something very un-sexy right away. What were we talking about, anyway? Oh – right. Severus. There, that's working.

"How do you know it's him?" I ask.

She begins to lay out the facts, making her case. It's not that I think she is wrong – Hermione is very rarely wrong. I guess I just need to hear it all for myself. In some ways, I can see right away how her secret admirer could be Severus. In fact, 'secretly' might be the only way he would allow himself to admire anyone. But it's still a pretty strange concept. I've never pictured him as a romantic. I like to think I've gotten to know the man. But perhaps I've merely scratched the surface.

She leans forward earnestly (perhaps not such a good idea, in her low-cut nightgown, but I manage to keep my eyes on her face… mostly), and starts ticking off the evidence on her fingers. "First, Harry, is the food. After I left the Burrow, I came back to Hogwarts and was too upset to face people for most of the next day. He sent up a house-elf with my favorite foods for breakfast and lunch. Severus sits right next to me at the staff table every day, Harry. He knows what I like."

That's true, and I acknowledge it with a nod. But just about any of the Gryffindors near our year would be able to do that – we all sat at the same dining hall table for years. I bet I could plan a meal of her favorite foods without even thinking.

"Second – the necklace. Who else would be able to create that necklace with the Dark magic detector pendant?"

I can think of a few, perhaps, but they're all dead – Dumbledore, Mad-Eye, maybe even Remus... Actually, now that I think of it, the only living person we know besides Severus who has the skills to make such a trinket is probably George. He rarely gets enough credit for his genius. I could see it as a future Wizarding Wheezes product, honestly. And George would know what she likes to eat… George likes to flirt with Hermione, but I truly believe he is just playing. And he is married – apparently happily – to Angelina. But he was the one to suggest at Christmas dinner that the necklace was from Severus: was he trying to deflect attention from himself?

I shrug, though the question was clearly rhetorical.

"Third – his body. He is tall, muscular –"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" I interrupt. "How do you know about his body?"

She blushes, and looks confused. "Harry, come on. I told you about the Halloween kiss. I was pressed right up against him – I know a little about Severus's body, even though we were both fully clothed."

"No, the secret admirer," I clarify. "How do you know anything about the secret admirer's body?"

The blush intensifies – she is bright red, and won't meet my eyes.

Luna steps in with the coffee, and sets it down on a low table, around which Hermione and I are sitting in two of Luna's five mismatched chairs. She sits next to Hermione, crosses her legs, and sips calmly from her steaming coffee mug. Yes, now that I get a closer look, I can see that the unicorns on her pajamas are without a doubt illustrating various sexual positions. I'm not sure actual unicorns are flexible enough, or have good enough balance, to manage more than a few of these options, but… well, they are giving me some ideas. Ginny and I both have good balance – honed by years of flying – and she, at least, is quite flexible. I cannot repress a smirk as I examine the illustration gracing Luna's right knee. Damn! Better think about Severus some more. I cross my own legs.

Hermione is still not speaking, but Luna takes over. "Hermione's Mystery Man has visited her a couple of times. He Disillusions himself. But she needed help walking after she got out of the tub, and he put his invisible arm around her and carried her to the couch. Then she felt him with her feet and hands."

My mouth is hanging open. As soon as I recover the power of speech, I recap, just to make sure I have the story correctly. "You… you think it's Severus."

"Yes," Hermione answers, sipping her coffee, and still blushing furiously.

"And he's been invisible in your quarters."

"Yes."

"And he carried you, naked, from the bath to the couch?!"

She chokes on her coffee. "NO! No, Harry. I had on my bathrobe."

"And why, precisely, couldn't you walk after you got out of the tub? Or do I not want to hear this?"

"Oh my god, Harry! It's not like that at all, you pervert!" Hermione looks horrified, and Luna just looks around, dreamily, as if she is considering painting the walls a different color. "I couldn't walk because I'd been ice skating all day, and my ankles were very sore. I was limping, and suddenly a strong arm was around my waist, supporting me against a tall, lean, muscular body, across the room to the couch. And of course, now that I've made the connection, I recall that's exactly how Severus felt when we were snogging by the Shrieking Shack."

I feel faint with relief. For a moment there, I was afraid an invisible man fucked my best friend in her tub, so hard that she couldn't walk. And that maybe it was my other friend, Severus, who did it. Or, possibly, my married brother-in-law George. "Okay," I say weakly, "three: his body." I take the remaining cup of coffee and gulp some down to steady my nerves.

"Don't forget about his hands, Hermione," says Luna, helpfully.

My turn to choke on my coffee. Hermione rises gracefully to pound me on the back. Then she bends low to look me in my face, which is probably purple from coughing, but quickly turns red, as I am treated to an unintended (I assume!) look straight down her low neckline. Nope – she's not wearing anything underneath. Shit! What a way to start the year. I had no idea this meeting would be so challenging. I fold my hands carefully in my lap as she returns to her chair, and reclaims her coffee mug.

"All right, Harry?" she asks me, innocently. Yes, of course she did not intend for me to see her tits dangling right in front of my face, and between them, a glimpse of her taut belly and brown curls below.

I nod, and swallow hard. "I'm afraid to hear about his hands, Hermione – where they've been and how much you know about them."

She laughs at my discomfort. Cruel, Hermione. Cruel.

"Once again, Harry, your perverted imagination is getting the best of you. It's nothing too graphic, I swear. But after he sat me on the couch, I told him why I had trouble walking, and he very gently and masterfully massaged my feet and ankles for me. His hands are large, and strong, with long fingers. Don't you remember what Severus's hands are like, from Potions?"

"Um… no? I never paid much attention to his hands, honestly. I was too focused on the anger in his eyes and the sneer on his lips."

"Oh, Harry," Luna sighs. "I don't know how you could miss them. Professor Snape's hands are exquisite. The way his fingers wrap around a pestle… The firmness with which he takes a pinch of powdered root of asphodel… The way he cradles animal parts… I have often wished to be a rat bladder in his hands."

Hermione dabs at her lips with a napkin. Dear god, was she drooling?

This has been entirely too educational a morning. I really don't think I needed to know that Severus Snape has sexy hands. I look at my own hands – Quidditch-calloused, stubby-fingered, with bitten fingernails. "Okay, then," I sigh. "Four – his hands." I shudder slightly. "What else?"

"Five – his lips," Hermione says, showing me all five fingers on one hand: a tally.

"I know you kissed Severus at Halloween, Hermione. Hell, everyone knows that, thanks to Skeeter. But… have you kissed your secret admirer?"

"Not on the mouth."

I must look horrified, because she rushes headlong to clarify her statement.

"I mean, I kissed his hand, but that doesn't tell me anything about his lips anyway. He kissed my neck one night, and all I could really tell was that his lips were soft. But he brushed his lips against my fingertips, and kissed my palm, and my wrist, and… the sole of my foot…" Her voice fades off.

That's it. There's no way this secret admirer could be Severus. Severus Snape would not kiss the sole of Hermione's foot. It's inconceivable. Gods, she's trembling, thinking about it. If the idiot, whoever he is, would show up visible so she could see him to accost him, he'd get more than he bargained for. Holy hell, her nipples are erect under her nightgown, just remembering his lips on her. And my cock is becoming more and more erect watching her get aroused as she thinks about him. Look away, I tell myself. She's your friend! Think about something awful!

Luna to the rescue again. "His lower lip was full, she says. And if you were busy focusing on Professor Snape's sneer, then you will certainly agree that his lower lip is full and looks quite soft."

"Er… Luna, I can't really say that I have ever looked at his lips in quite that way. It's the upper lip, I suppose, that does most of the sneering, anyway. But again, I will take your word for it. So let's see." I force myself to return to logic. "We've got: the food, the necklace, his body, his hands, and his lips. Is that it?"

"Oh!" exclaims Luna. "Hermione! How could you forget to mention his penis?"

"What?!" I shout, leaping to my feet, and dropping my mug of coffee. "What the hell?" My brain feels like it has turned to mush. I can't even formulate a coherent question.

Hermione dropped her coffee mug, too, and has buried her head in her hands. Her shoulders are shaking, I think from laughter. When she looks up, tears are streaming from her face, and she shakes her head fiercely from side to side, but appears unable to speak. I look to Luna, though I'm not sure this is advisable. More often than not, Luna's contributions to this conversation have been disconcerting.

"While the Mystery Man massaged one of Hermione's feet, the other rested in his lap," Luna explains. "She explored a bit with her toes, and he obviously enjoyed it. His penis got larger and harder, just like yours is now –"

"LUNA!" Hermione and I scream simultaneously, while I sit back down and recross my legs. Nope, not advisable to have looked to Luna for explanation.

Luna continues, undaunted. "And she says it was long, fairly thick, and curved to the left slightly, which is exactly how Severus felt when they clung to each other so tightly during their Halloween kiss."

Sweet Merlin – how did she do that? I honestly thought things couldn't get worse once she pointed out my hard-on to Hermione. But then she planted a too-vivid image of Severus Snape's erect cock in my brain, and I'm going to need to Obliviate myself if I have any hope of ever speaking to the man again. And crap, do all girls share this level of detail about their lovers' bodies with each other? How much does Hermione know about MY cock from Ginny?

"This is definitely too much information, you two," I plead, as I retrieve my coffee mug and Hermione's from where they have rolled under the table. I pull my wand from my back pocket (both buttocks still in place, Mad-Eye) and mutter "Tergeo" at the slowly spreading coffee puddles, as an excuse to look anywhere but at Hermione or Luna.

"So don't you agree, Harry," Luna asks, oblivious of my discomfort, "that it could only be Professor Snape? I mean, there's more, but isn't that enough to go on?"

"More?! How on earth could there be more, Luna?" I instantly regret my outburst. Please, if there's a god in heaven, don't let her answer.

"Well, it's more the stuff the he hasn't let her discover that is the further evidence."

"What does THAT mean?" Seems safe enough to ask about the things she doesn't know…

Hermione has recovered enough to speak, though her cheeks are still on fire. "He's never let me touch his face or his hair, Harry. And he won't speak. So whoever it is must have distinctive features, hair, and voice."

"Oh, that's it, then! You must be right!" I am laughing so hard suddenly that I can barely speak. "He can't let you feel his beak of a nose or his greasy hair, or hear his sinister voice! You'd recognize him right away. Oh, that's rich! He is nothing if not distinctive."

And then, surprise of all surprises, Hermione is on her feet, eyes blazing. "His hair is NOT greasy! It's silky and soft!"

"Whoa, baby! Okay! I take it back!" She does scare me sometimes. At least I know for a fact she doesn't have her wand on her. Nowhere she could be hiding it in that nightgown, except – Oh, god. STOP! Nowhere. Nowhere she could be hiding the wand.

She sits, pouting. "And his voice is not sinister, either. It's… deep, resonant, and… also silky."

We all take a deep breath, as if on cue.

"Right," I finally say softly. "The point is, you would certainly recognize Severus right away if he is indeed the Mystery Man, and if he let you feel his face or hair or hear his voice. I do agree, all of these signs point to Severus. But I still have trouble seeing him as a romantic enough person to give you a heart-shaped necklace, and seriously cannot imagine him kissing your foot."

"It's him, Harry," she tells me. There is no question or doubt in her voice. "I just know it. I've spent a lot of time with him this year, and it just felt like him in the room with me those times last week."

"If you know it so certainly, why did you call me over? You didn't need me to confirm something you seem to know in you bones."

"No, I didn't. But… I have to figure out what to do with this knowledge. And you know him better than anyone, I think, now that Dumbledore is gone."

"McGonagall knows him pretty well, I'd wager," I say, trying to find a way out. I don't want to be in the middle of this. Whatever is going on between my friends, they'll need to work it out on their own. I took the same position of neutrality and noninterference when she and Ron first started dating, and I see no reason to change my tactics now.

"McGonagall knows him as a colleague, but I don't think she knows him as a friend. As a man. Come on, Harry, you have to help me, here."

I sigh. "How can I help, Hermione?" She's always been too bloody persuasive.

"I don't know what to do with this knowledge, Harry. Should I confront him, do you think? Let him know that I know? Or should I just wait it out, and let him come to me, going on faith that eventually he will reveal himself?"

"Hold on a minute, I think you're getting ahead of yourself," I tell her. "Or, at the very least, you're getting ahead of me."

She looks at me, puzzled. I'm used to it, really. Her brain goes as fast as my old Firebolt, and mine feels like a Cleansweep in comparison. She probably has thought this all through, but she forgot to tell me about it.

"You told me that you figured out the identity of the Mystery Man, but you never said how you felt about it. Are you glad that it's Severus?"

"Wh- what do you mean?" she asks warily.

* * *

**Part two: Luna**

I think I know where he's going, and take pity on him. He's really not in his element when he is forced to discuss a girl's feelings. This I know – Cho cried and cried in our common room about how insensitive he was. I don't believe he's insensitive. Just inept. I will do my best to rescue him. It's only fair. He rescued me once.

"When I came over to Grimmauld Place at Christmas Eve, Hermione, you were wearing the necklace given to you by your secret admirer. It is a pretty necklace, Hermione, but was that the only reason you wore it?"

She smiles, and turns to me. I think they are both happier that I am now leading this discussion.

"I guess not," she admits. "I wore it because it made me feel special. More important than how it looked, I think, was how it made me feel. Cared for. Loved."

"And I know you were still dating Ron back then," I say, but pause when she blanches.

"Hermione, we used to say Voldemort's name," Harry interjects. "Please try not to flinch when someone says the name of the guy who's been our friend for 12 years."

Maybe that wasn't the best comparison Harry could have made. Once when he said Voldemort's name it got them captured, and got her tortured. But it had to happen that way, or he wouldn't have disarmed Draco and won the Elder Wand's allegiance, and Voldemort would have won. And Mr. Ollivander and I probably would have died in Malfoy Manor.

"I know," she whispers. "I'm sorry."

She puts on a brave smile and tosses her hair over her shoulders, turning her attention back to me. "Now, what were you saying? About how I was still dating… Ron… back then?"

"So you were dating him, but things were already a bit off between you. Even before the whole Halloween kiss thing. You kept putting him off. You didn't seem to be in much of a rush to marry him, though he seemed quite eager to marry you."

"I was finishing my training, Luna!" Her eyes flash at me.

"If you were as excited about it as he was, the training wouldn't have stood in your way," Harry interjects. "You two would have been married before me and Ginny, even."

"What of it? What are you two getting at?"

"I'm just wondering," I say gently, "if your heart was already wandering. You weren't as in love with Ron as he was with you. Maybe you weren't as in love with Ron as you wanted to be, or thought you should be. And then some mysterious stranger started giving you gifts. What did you think about that?"

"I thought it was exciting. I thought it was the most exciting thing to have happened since the end of the war. Happy?"

"Doesn't matter whether I'm happy," I tell her, starting to feel like we're finally getting somewhere. "What matters is what makes you happy. And I don't think it has been Ron for some time now. What I want to know is – was your secret admirer making you happy? Did you wear his necklace and think about him and smile? Were you falling for someone you didn't even know?"

"I- I suppose I might have been. A little, perhaps." She looks guilty.

"And before you knew that it was Severus giving you the gifts – how did you feel about him? Not the kiss – not the physical part. But Severus as a person. Did you like him?"

"I admired him. I don't know if I can say that I liked him. He is brilliant, dedicated, loyal. But he can be, as Harry and I both well know, quite cruel. I held a grudge against him for some of the things he did and said to us, and to our friends, while we were students, and am only recently beginning to let go of some of it. We get on each other's nerves, and sometimes we argue. But when we get working on our projects, it's like he's a different man. He's never warm, but he is much less prickly. He treats me with respect, he is patient, and he is helpful in his way. He is intense, quiet, intelligent, decisive, strong-willed, and passionate about his work."

I sigh deeply, and Harry looks at me funny. If Hermione's description of Severus – he of the exquisite hands, soft lips, and large, left-leaning penis – as being intense, quiet, intelligent, decisive, strong-willed, and passionate isn't enough to make him sigh, too, then he is as straight as they come.

He turns his attention back to Hermione, asking her once more, "So, are you glad that Severus is your secret admirer? If you felt yourself falling for your secret admirer, even a little, before you found out… Can you still see yourself falling for him now that you know who it is?"

She is silent. But she nods, slowly.

* * *

**Part three: Hermione**

Dear god, he's right. I actually could see myself falling for Severus. Now that I am no longer a student, he has been far more respectful toward me. We argue, sure, but I give as good as I get, and it's actually a little fun to match wits with a worthy opponent. He's surly, but even that is sometimes more amusing than irritating.

Really, the thing that irritates me most about him is his stubborn refusal to enjoy anything. I wonder… What if that's why he's acting as a secret admirer? This way, he doesn't have to acknowledge it's him that has any tender feelings for anything or anyone.

"I wonder," says Luna. Gods, I didn't say anything out loud did I?

"What do you wonder?" asks Harry.

"I wonder why Severus started giving Hermione gifts under the guise of a secret admirer, in the first place."

"Why does anyone give gifts? I suppose he must want to make her happy."

"But secretly," says Luna. "Why the mystery?"

My question, exactly.

"Maybe he thought it would be more fun for her this way? Like a game?" suggests Harry.

"Maybe he just likes to laugh at me when he overhears me talking with Poppy about how I can't figure out the Mystery Man's identity." I scowl, thinking of how often he must have overheard me talking to her about him.

"Maybe he doesn't think that she likes him, since he used to be so mean to her," says Luna, "and this way, he doesn't have to risk rejection, since she doesn't know it's him."

"Maybe he's afraid to enjoy his life, and leaving me presents secretly is removed enough from an actual relationship that it feels safe to him."

"Hermione," Harry scolds. "I can't tell you how angry Severus got at me when I called him a coward once. I would suggest you keep that particular theory to yourself."

I laugh. "Actually, I already accused him of being afraid to truly live."

"What did he do?" Luna asks, breathlessly, her silver eyes wide.

"He kissed me quite passionately, actually!"

"Urgh. Thank Merlin he didn't do that to me when I called him cowardly. I'd much rather face his wrath than his kiss!"

"I wish I could read his mind and know what's going on in there," I sigh. "Then maybe I'd know what to do."

"Legilimency! Hermione, it can't be Luna's idea about him not knowing if you like him. He must see in your eyes how you feel."

Once again, I laugh, and Harry looks at me curiously. "No, he doesn't. I've been practicing Occlumency around him since early November."

He is impressed. "Good job, Hermione! Who taught you?"

I look at my feet. I could use a pedicure. "Itaughtmyself," I mutter.

"What?"

"She taught herself," Luna translates for him.

"Damn," he says softly, awestruck. He's too shocked to be upset with me for learning it from a book when he failed to learn it from Severus so many years ago.

"I found a helpful resource in the restricted section of the library. Irma – Madam Pince – gives me full access to anything I want now, especially since I'm working on Dark Arts stuff with Severus."

He rolls his eyes dramatically.

I change the subject. "So what do you guys think I should do about Severus? I have to work with him all day tomorrow!"

"I believe a direct approach is almost always best," says Luna. "You could just tell him you know it's him, assure him that you have enjoyed the gifts and the mystery, and that you like him, and then invite him up for that evening."

"No," says Harry. "Severus is a man who is not comfortable expressing his emotions, unless those emotions are anger or disgust. If you force him to make any kind of declaration too early, before he's ready, he may flee – emotionally, even if not physically."

I chuckle, and he furrows his brow. He has no idea why that was funny. "So," I ask him, by way of answering his unasked question, "when did you get so good at talking about feelings?"

He blushes. "I guess maybe I've learned a bit from you two and Ginny."

"Well, it sounds like I'm just going to have to play it by ear. I'll just try to act normally tomorrow with him."

"Hermione, you've never been normal." He grins at me.

"Hmm. Think you can get away with saying things like that just because you're The Chosen One?"

"Nope. I think I can get away with saying things like that because I'm cute."

"Get over yourself, Potter. You're not that cute."

Luna gasps in horror. Apparently, she thinks he IS that cute.

"_Witch Weekly_ readers disagree, Granger. Don't you ever read?"

Another horrified gasp: an insult like that won't fly around a Ravenclaw.

"Cut it out, Potter, or I'll have my secret admirer sneer at you."

"Okay, you win."

"Of course I do." I smirk victoriously, and Luna laughs too loud and too long.

* * *

_A/N: Wow – I actually wrote this entire chapter in one day. (Hope that doesn't show...) Thank goodness Felena1971 was able to put down "New Moon" long enough to beta it for me tonight. ;D_

_This was an unplanned chapter, but it showed up in my brain and I couldn't resist. Hope you enjoyed it!_


	9. Chapter 9: Winter Warmup

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the characters or setting – those belong to JK Rowling, to whom I am eternally grateful for creating the Potterverse. I'm just taking a couple of her characters out for a spin, but promise to return them, only slightly the worse for wear.

_A/N 1: This story is AU in that Severus Snape did not die. A rather brainy brunette saved him after Nagini's attack in DH. As much as is possible, I'll make this canon-compliant, though I'm ignoring the epilogue._

_A/N 2: I've really been having fun brainstorming many of the elements of this story with Felena1971, my co-author and beta-reader. Now I can't imagine how or why I ever tried to write things on my own!_

**Chapter 9: Winter Warm-up**

* * *

**Part one: Hermione**

"Hermione, are you listening to me?"

Actually, no. I am not listening to Poppy. I am watching Severus eat his breakfast, but trying not to be obvious about it. I remember to take a bite now and then of my own meal, to keep up appearances.

Originally, I started watching him to see if his body language might say something about his feelings for me. But I'm not learning much. He sits ramrod straight in his seat, neither leaning toward me or away from me. He has not made eye contact or offered either a scowl or a smile. He seems focused on his meal, except when he spares a glance for the few dozen students that stayed at the castle for the winter holidays.

His hands have grabbed my attention, now. Luna was right – they are exquisite. The way he is holding his ham and egg croissant is quite… inspiring.

"Goodness sakes, Hermione! Now I'm not sure I want to ask you, anyway!"

Honestly. As much as I like Poppy, she's really starting to grate on my nerves. Can't she see I'm busy?

"Ask me what, Poppy?" I ask, disinterestedly. My eyes are still on Severus's fingers, which now really look as if they could stand to be licked clean… Come on, Severus – put them in your mouth… Alas. The napkin. He does, however, lick the very corner of his lips, collecting a crumb of the flaky pastry that had gotten left behind. Ohhhhhh…

He turns, finally, to face me. "Are you quite all right, Hermione?" he asks. "You look slightly feverish, and you just groaned a little. Perhaps we should put off our work until you are feeling better."

Oh, sweet Merlin. I groaned OUT LOUD?

"Oh, no. She's sick? Well, I guess I have my answer, then. Never mind. Drop by the hospital wing after breakfast, dear, and we'll see what you need."

"I'm not sick! I'm fine! Severus, I'm fine. I'm ready to go today," I assure him, perhaps a bit too vehemently.

"Are you sure, dear?" Poppy puts her wrist to my forehead. How embarrassing. "You do seem slightly warm, Hermione."

"It's just the hot coffee, Poppy," I protest. "I'm fine."

"Well, in that case," she says, "maybe you could do it for me."

"Do what?" My attention is back on Severus as he eats his grapes.

"Sub for me? I'd love to visit my family for a couple of days before term starts, and there aren't many students here to need me right now anyway, and you are a trained healer after all, and you wouldn't actually have to be in the hospital wing unless something were to happen, you could just be on call, so you'd still be able to work with Severus, I just need somebody to cover for me in case there were to be some sort of emergency…"

One by one, the little globes disappear into his mouth. I imagine the juicy explosion as he bites each one.

"Sure, whatever, Poppy. Whatever you need. No problem." Now shut up so I can enjoy the show. Honestly. And Ron thought I talked too much.

"Thanks, Hermione! I'd better go owl them right away to let them know I'm coming!" And then she's gone, leaving me to ogle in peace.

Damn – too late. Show over. Severus pushes his chair back from the table, and turns to me. Occlumency! Must remember to keep that shield up at all times now. I don't think I'm quite ready for him to know that I know his secret. I haven't yet decided what to do.

"Since you claim you are feeling up to it, you may meet me in my lab in half an hour." He eyes me carefully, perhaps still trying to confirm that I am well enough for work.

"I'll be there, Severus," I reply breathlessly.

He raises one eyebrow, rises – an impressive black column – and turns 180 degrees to leave.

I sink back in my chair, and exhale slowly. Half an hour. That might be enough time to get my heart rate back under control. This is bound to be an interesting day.

* * *

**Part two: Severus**

We've been working with the pensieve since well before Christmas, covering all aspects of Albus's cursed hand, and what I did to contain the curse. First we went into the memory so I could show her what happened. Then we spent time discussing dark curses and their effects on the human body. I taught her the incantation and wand movements to try to counteract the curse, but of course – in Albus's case – it was too late for that. The best I could do was to contain the curse in his right hand, and buy him some time. I hope that if she ever runs into a similar curse, she will be more successful than I was. Naturally, it helps to have a patient who seeks help immediately, instead of stopping to destroy pieces of Dark Lord soul.

This morning, I plan to take her back into the memory and watch her work without my prompts. I am not optimistic, however. She seems so distracted today. At breakfast, she barely listened to Poppy. I get the feeling she is barely listening to me, too.

"Are you ready?" I ask, placing the heavy pensieve on the table in front of us. She does not answer, but merely stares at my hands as I swirl the silvery memories with my wand, drawing to the surface the one we need. Perhaps she is frightened.

"Hermione." She finally looks at me. "I asked, are you ready?" She blushes, and nods. She should be embarrassed. Fear is for the weak.

"You've done this before, but this time I want to see how you do on your own. I want you to get in there right away and start the incantation and wandwork before I do."

No response. She is watching my mouth as I speak, but it is as if my words aren't getting through to her brain. Do I have something stuck between my teeth? I knew I shouldn't have eaten those grapes.

"Miss Granger!"

The use of her surname startles her enough that she looks me in the eyes. I probe her thoughts gently to see if it is a grape skin that is distracting her, but… again, I find resistance. I can only assume she is practicing Occlumency (where did she learn it?) because of the reaction she had to our Halloween kiss. When I read her journal on Christmas night, I learned that she was deeply interested in repeating the experience, and perhaps she is still working – more than two months later – to hide this from me. It must be difficult for her to suppress her desire for more – it was obviously the most passionate kiss of her life. That must be why she keeps staring at my mouth – she is imagining my lips on hers again. She is, admirably, struggling to remain professional around me. I try to suppress the smirk that threatens to spread across my face, and turn it into a sneer instead.

"It is time. If you cannot stay focused on our work together, perhaps we should end this session for the day and try again when you are feeling more yourself."

"No," she protests. "I am ready. I am focused. I'm sorry, Severus. Let's do it."

She leans into the swirling silvery mist in the pensieve, and disappears into my memory. I follow immediately behind.

Albus sags in his chair, his hand looking dead, black, burned. She marches over to him, drawing her wand as she goes, and ignoring me completely (both my current-self and my memory-self). Finally! She appears focused. Even before my memory-self begins the healing process, she has started. Her work is flawless. She completes the spellwork and watches as my younger self pours the golden potion down Albus's throat.

"That's enough," I say, taking her elbow, and seeking to exit the memory.

She turns toward me, her eyes seeming to search my face for something. "I'm not ready to go," she says.

"Hermione, the healing, such as it was, is completed. Your work here is done. Your next task will be to learn to brew the potion I used on him. It is time to return to the lab." I tug gently on her elbow once more.

"No, Severus," she says. When did she develop the nerve to contradict me in such a firm, steady tone? "I want to stay a bit longer this time."

"For what purpose, Hermione? No more healing took place in this memory." If she stays, she will witness me agreeing to kill Albus in Draco's place. I would much rather she did not see that. Ahhh, too late. Albus is already working up to his request. I tug on her elbow again, not quite as gently. "Come. We are leaving." But she does not budge. I consider picking her up and carrying her out of the damned memory.

Her attention is on the conversation that took place seven years ago, when Albus made his hideous request. This is one of a handful of conversations in my life that defined me, that doomed me.

Why have I brought her here? I should have separated the healing portion of this memory from this part, kept them separate, so this could never happen. But, if I am honest with myself, they are inextricably linked. Why not agree to kill Albus, when I already felt responsible for his impending death as it was? Had I been a more adept healer – faster, more skilled – perhaps I could have saved him from that curse. Although Hermione flattered me, describing my work with Albus's hand as 'brilliant' and 'life-saving', I have always considered this an instance of failure. I never wanted to show this memory to anyone. And yet, here we are. She praised me and persuaded me, looking at me so hopefully with her big brown eyes, and I gave in to her wishes. Again. I used to be so much better at denying her. I miss the old days.

Finally, the conversation has ended. We watch in silence as I exit the room, leaving an exhausted, mortally wounded, but oddly satisfied-looking Albus behind.

"Now," she says, looking at her feet. And we return to my lab in silence.

I don't know what to say to her now that she has seen one of the darkest moments of my life. At least she didn't witness me actually doing the deed. I walk to my desk and sit, heavily, in my chair: my elbows on my desk, my hands steepled before me, and my forehead leaning on my fingers. After a moment, she follows.

Her footsteps circle around behind me, and the next thing I know, her hands are on my shoulders. They stroke down my back in long sweeping movements, as if trying to brush the past off of me. The tenderness sends a shiver up my spine.

I am rarely touched by anyone. How is it that she keeps touching me? The contact on the hayride was accidental. At the Shrieking Shack it was also accidental, or at least unpremeditated – not to mention, it was initiated by me, not by her. In her quarters, she touched her secret admirer, not realizing she was actually touching me – so accidental again. But this. This is no accident.

"Severus," she says, and I can hear the emotion in her voice. "He trusted you. He loved you so much, Severus. He needed you, and you did what he asked, at great personal cost. Although none of us understood it at the time, I want you to know that now – now that I know the whole story – I thank you for what you did. Your selflessness is deeply moving."

Certainly, the world must have stopped spinning on its axis. Or perhaps it has even begun to spin the wrong way. Nothing makes sense. Hermione Granger is voluntarily caressing me, and I am allowing it. I have just been accused of selflessness – a distinctly un-Slytherin trait – and did not protest.

And… was I just thanked for killing Albus Dumbledore?

Her hands continue their gentle strokes. The next time they come up to the top, I reach over my shoulder and grab one. She gasps.

"That's enough for today. Our session is over."

For once, thank Merlin, she does not argue with me. I release her hand, and she walks quietly to my door. She turns back toward me, her eyes warm pools of dark chocolate, and hesitates, as if choosing her words carefully. Then she shakes her head ever so slightly, and leaves without saying anything at all.

* * *

**Part three: Hermione**

I check the list Severus gave me this morning. Abyssinian shrivelfig. Hellebore leaves and stems. Mandrake root. Wormwood. Everything else we will need is already in his storeroom, but these particular ingredients will be most effective when fresh.

Once we brew a cauldron of the Decursify Potion, we can preserve it and save it for emergencies. With Voldemort dead, and Death Eater activity on the decline, Severus has not kept a significant supply of this potion on hand. But I must learn to brew it properly myself, so that I can prepare it if it is ever needed.

It is a fascinating potion – it has a basic recipe, which will help against most curses, but Severus tells me that if you know anything specific about the curse you are fighting, you can modify the recipe for a more targeted brew. He must have been invaluable to the Order – with his status in Voldemort's inner circle and his skills in Legilimency, he would have been able to learn the specifics about any curses the Death Eaters used.

I am, once more, deeply grateful to him for the role he played in protecting all of us.

The greenhouses are strangely quiet today. Earlier in the year, Severus had sent me to gather some fresh Potions ingredients, but at that time, classes were in session and the greenhouses had buzzed with activity.

As I enter Greenhouse One, however, I sense that someone else is present. "Neville?" I call into the dense greenery.

"No," a male voice calls back. From behind a flutterby bush steps a seventh year Ravenclaw, whose name escapes me. "Professor Longbottom is up at the castle. I believe he may be in the Transfiguration classroom," he says with a slight chuckle.

Ah. "And what are you doing here, Mr…?"

"Crawford, sorry. Geoffrey Crawford. I'm collecting data on belladonna, in preparation for my Herbology NEWT."

"I'm impressed with your initiative, Mr. Crawford. Does Nev- Professor Longbottom know you're here?" There are too many dangerous things in these greenhouses for Neville to have left a student here alone.

"No," Crawford answers sheepishly, "he doesn't. I wanted to get ahead a bit, you know, impress him. I'm hoping he'll write a letter of recommendation for me when I apply to the St. Mungo's Healer Training Program. I want to work on the Poisonous Plant ward. You won't tell him I was here, will you?"

I laugh. I think I would have been very much like Mr. Crawford as a student, had I not been wrapped up in a wizarding war with Harry and the Order.

"No," I assure him, "I won't. I'm just here to collect some potions ingredients for Professor Snape. I'll just pretend I never saw you, okay?"

"Thanks, Miss Granger," he sighs, and disappears behind the flutterby bushes again.

I gather the shrivelfigs, and move on to the wormwood. I trim off a small branch, and begin to peel the bark that Severus and I will need to make the Decursify Potion. I've seen him pour the thick, golden potion down Professor Dumbledore's throat at least a half-dozen times, and now I'll finally get a chance to make it myself. I've really begun to enjoy potions work under Severus's private tuition.

I'd always wondered what happened next, after Severus administered the potion. I don't know what came over me yesterday – why I insisted upon staying to see more of that memory – but I am so glad that I did. I feel I know Severus so much better now that I've seen it. He was incredibly brave to accept that awful task from Dumbledore. How much it must have cost him personally to kill a man he so obviously respected and admired! I have known for years now about this burden he bore, but it's never been so clear to me as it is now. His sacrifice was so moving that I just wanted to hold him. I settled for touching him, not in a sexual way, but in a… kind and loving way. I think even my light, non-sexual touches were too much for Severus, who still irritates me by denying himself pleasure. I'm going to HAVE to get him over that.

After he ended our session early, I went back to my quarters and wrote in my journal about what I saw, how it made me feel, and what happened after. The ink came out silver, as it did when I wrote that my Mystery Man cares for me, and as it did when Severus wrote to me that first night I caught him disillusioned in my quarters. Given the way I've begun to feel about him this year, and the way I think he must feel about me, since he has been so kind to me under the guise of a secret admirer, could silver express… affection? Or… more? It's so weird the way the ink seems to know how I feel even before I do.

Having gotten enough wormwood bark, and not wishing to disturb Geoffrey Crawford's data-gathering, I slip quietly out the door and over to Greenhouse Two to get the hellebore and mandrake root. First the hellebore, since that is the easiest. Even with earmuffs, the mandrakes tend to make me a bit woozy, so I know I'll want to leave as soon as I am done getting the roots I need. It's getting hot in here – even in January. I wipe the sweat from my forehead, and clip the leaves and stems off a half-dozen hellebore plants. Certainly that will be enough. Only one item left.

I pick a pair of lime green earmuffs, and snap them into place. With a deep breath, I grasp the top of a mandrake, and pull. Its ugly face is scrunched up in fury, and its mouth is wide open. It must be screaming at the top of its lungs – except that it doesn't really have lungs, being a plant. I do need to remind myself that they are plants, or I won't be able to trim off any of the roots. They look so much like dirty, lumpy, small people that it's hard not to think that I'm cutting off someone's toes. This really is a horrid job.

I lay the squalling thing onto the workbench, pinning it with one hand. It's a plant, it's a plant, it's a plant… "Diffindo," I say, pointing my wand at the bottom end of the thing. Several of the roots fall into my basket. I hope that will do it. I'm not sure I can bear to cut any more. There's a strange constricting sensation around my left leg, and a prickly heat. I really don't feel well…

The greenhouse seems to be fading a bit, especially around the edges. Instinctively, I know what needs to be done. I shove the mandrake back into the soil, and with the last of my strength grab an empty pot and hurl it at the glass wall. As the wall shatters with a satisfyingly loud crash, I slip to the floor.

Geoffrey Crawford runs in to investigate the crashing noise, hands over his ears – clever boy – just in case. He spots me on the floor and races to my side.

"Snape," I whisper, as the long tunnels of my fading vision collapse, and I lose my tenuous grip on consciousness.

* * *

**Part four: Severus**

What in the name of Merlin's saggy left testicle do I have to do to get rid of this girl? Is the universe conspiring against me? I send her off to do some work away from me, so I can get a bit of breathing room, and this is the result? One of my seventh year Ravenclaws – who apparently has a hero complex – has just dumped an unconscious Hermione back in my lap. Well, not my lap, exactly, but my lab – which is close enough. There is no escaping this witch! No matter what I do, we keep winding up thrown together.

I am attempting to piece together what happened from the hysterical ramblings of the pimply-faced youth in blue.

"Couldn't have been the mandrakes, Sir, as she still had her earmuffs on when I found her, and all the mandrakes were back in their pots, though one of them appeared to have been freshly repotted, Sir, and she had the roots on the workbench…"

"Stop telling me what it wasn't, Crawford," I growl menacingly, "and tell me what it was! Time is of the essence!"

"I think it was Venomous Tentacula, Sir. It was wrapped around her leg, but I don't know how badly it got her. I used the Reductor Curse to get it off her."

I take her from the boy, carry her into my study, and rest her on the divan. Venomous Tentacula! Naturally! Because the girl cannot stay away from me – she had to run into an attack plant with a quick-acting poison. I examine the leg of her blue jeans, and sure enough, there are rings of small punctures around her ankle, her calf, and her thigh. The thing must have sent a tendril spiraling up her leg. That's a vicious plant to have gotten her this badly through the sturdy denim fabric.

"Thank you, Mr. Crawford. Is there anything else you need to tell me?"

"N- n- no, Sir. She – just before she went down – she called your name. That's why I brought her here."

"Good thing you did. Madam Pomfrey is taking a few days off. Miss Granger must have realized, even as she was losing consciousness, that she would need to be brought to me."

Crawford swallows, and nods.

"Good thing you were there," I say, gruffly, as I walk into my storeroom. I come out with the antidote to the plant's poison, and the salve that will heal the tiny wounds made by the venomous spikes. "You got her here in time, Mr. Crawford. She will make a full recovery. You did well."

I meant for my tone to dismiss him, but he is still standing there, with an oddly expectant look on his face.

"Oh, all right, Mr. Crawford," I grumble, as I kneel down next to Hermione with my wand drawn. "Thirty points to Ravenclaw. You may leave."

He does, finally.

"Rennervate," I mutter, and she wakes with a start.

"Severus, it burns," she gasps.

"Drink," I tell her, dropping my wand. I support her neck with one hand, and lift the antidote to her lips with the other.

She drinks greedily, and remains conscious. A good sign.

"My leg, Severus – what's wrong with my leg?"

"The Venomous Tentacula must have attacked from behind while you had your earmuffs on. Your leg hurts where the spikes punctured your skin. I can make it stop hurting, Hermione, but I am going to have to remove your jeans."

She winces in pain, and nods her assent.

"I will keep you covered, of course." I conjure a blanket, toss it over her, and then vanish her jeans. I fold back a corner to expose her ankle, and begin to cover the wounds with the thick paste. She moans with relief as the salve begins to cool the pain. I move up to her calf, massaging the paste into the injured tissue.

"Mr. Crawford brought you to me," I inform her. "You were lucky he was there."

"Yes, I was," she agrees. "I am also lucky that you had the antidote ready."

"Venomous Tentacula attacks are not uncommon. Poppy keeps a supply of the antidote and the salve on hand at all times, and I keep at least one bottle of each in reserve here, in case she should run out in the Hospital Wing."

"Thank you, Severus," she sighs. "That's really helping. The salve takes away the pain almost instantaneously."

"Yes," I tell her. "I am almost finished." Only the wounds on her thigh remain.

I fold the blanket back down to cover her, scoop some salve onto my fingers, and reach up under the blanket so as to treat the injury and still allow her a bit of dignity.

No. This is not any better than removing the blanket and exposing her. In fact, it may be worse, as without my eyes to guide me I must slide my hands up the length of her thigh, feeling around for the small puncture marks. Finally, I find them, but not before both of us are a bit redder in the face than is customary. I massage the salve into the wounds, judging by the look of relief on her face that I have treated them all.

Slowly and carefully, I withdraw. She meets my eyes as my hands slide gently back down her thigh, over her knee, and out from under the blanket.

"You will need to apply this salve, morning and night, for three days, until the wounds are completely healed. Do it again tonight, before you go to sleep."

"I will."

"Are you well enough to get back to your quarters?"

"I- I think I am."

"No. Stay here until you are certain you are ready. Let me make you some tea."

I should never have sent her to the greenhouses alone.

But after yesterday… After I sent her away, she wrote in her journal – in silver ink. Her emotions were running high after seeing the rest of that memory, and she began to have inappropriate feelings for me. She believes Albus loved me, and that I acted selflessly. Nothing could be further from the truth. I did give the old man what he wanted, but I hated myself for doing it, and I hated Albus even more for asking it of me. She is laboring under a misapprehension that I am worthy of affection.

But as she stood behind me, her affection washing over me, I almost felt absolved of my crimes – killing Albus, hating Albus, and all the crimes that came before. I wanted to be worthy of her feelings. Something stirred in me that I hadn't felt… in almost thirty years. Something akin to hope. But hope is something I cannot afford. Hope makes people do foolish things. Like fall in love.

Damned silver ink. Is it some kind of self-fulfilling prophecy? The only logical solution was to avoid her as much as possible. I cannot possibly fall in love with her if I am not around her. So as soon as I had an excuse, I sent her off to the greenhouses alone, giving me some much needed space.

But do I get space? No. Of course not. Because the universe hates me. Instead of distancing myself from her, I wind up saving her life, and running my hands up her naked thigh.

Wait! I saved her life! Had I not administered the antidote in time, the venom from the Tentacula would have stopped her heart. I have repaid my debt, and am no longer obligated to her! Thank Merlin, there is an upside to this disaster of a day. Unless –

Perhaps saving her life is negated by having been the one to put her in harm's way in the first place. When she called me a coward, she was right. I was fearful of spending time alone with her, and my fear nearly killed her.

I bring two cups of tea back to the divan, and hand her one. She sits up, holding the cup in both hands. I sit in a nearby armchair, and let the warmth and the aroma of the tea fill me. When I glace over at her, I catch her inhaling deeply over her own tea. We sip, simultaneously, which she notices – and she smiles at me. She seems to be feeling better.

"So, morning and night, for three days, right?" she asks.

"Yes, that is correct. It will keep the wounds from itching, and will help them heal."

"I may need help making sure I cover them all." She raises an eyebrow at me, and sips her tea.

The minx! She is coming on to me! How completely inappropriate.

"Hermione, I am certain you are capable of doing it yourself. You do not need my help with the salve now that the antidote has cleared the poison from your system."

"I wasn't thinking of you," she says.

Oh.

"I was thinking of my secret admirer." Her eyes are twinkling at me. She doesn't twinkle quite as well as Albus, but the meaning is the same. She is teasing me. She hopes to make me jealous, I think. Little does she know that by thinking of her secret admirer she is, in fact, thinking of me! How can I be jealous of myself? Her efforts are doomed to failure, but I will enjoy watching her try.

"He of the heart-shaped Dark magic detecting necklace?" I will play along.

"Yes, exactly," she says. "He has come to visit me, did I tell you?"

"No, you failed to mention it. Probably because you know that I – unlike the readers of the Daily Prophet, apparently – have no interest in your love life, Hermione." I have finished my tea, and place the empty cup on the side table. "I take it your secret admirer is no longer a secret, then, if he has come calling?"

"Oh, no. He is still very secretive. You see, he disillusions himself before he comes to me. And he will not speak, so even his voice is mysterious."

"Hermione," I begin.

"I know, Severus." She hold up a hand, palm toward me, indicating that my words are unnecessary. "You are about to tell me that I should not let an unknown person into my quarters. Especially someone who obviously has a secret. He could be dangerous."

As a matter of fact, I was about to say precisely that. I know she is in no danger, but she doesn't know that. She really should be more careful. "I am surprised, Hermione, to hear that you are not taking such good advice."

She smiles at me again, that brilliant white smile that comes from years of deeply ingrained good dental habits. "I knew you would be concerned, Severus. It's very sweet of you. But I feel safe with this Mystery Man. He has shown himself to be a deeply caring man, who has my best interests at heart. He actually gave me a very thorough and therapeutic ankle massage after I went ice-skating that day – you remember? I had invited you to come along, but I guess you were busy."

I nod. I WAS busy. Busy watching from the Astronomy Tower.

"Anyway, he did such a good job that night, that I know he would do a terrific job treating my wounds with the salve."

It is odd to hear her talking about me in this way.

"You have no idea who he could be, and yet you want him to come into your quarters and rub medicine onto your leg?"

She smiles sweetly. "Yes, that's right."

I shake my head at her. She really is reckless sometimes. "Don't you want to know his identity?"

"Of course I do."

"Do you have a plan?"

"Of course I do."

She does? Maybe she will tell me and then I can be sure that it will fail. I raise a questioning eyebrow, and wait to hear the plan.

"I plan to wait."

"Wait?" What kind of a plan is that?

"Wait. He will reveal himself when he is ready, and not before. I don't know why he has chosen to hide his identity from me, but I must respect his reasons. Still…"

"Still, what?" No one can really be as patient as she claims to be.

"Still… the anticipation is killing me. Without much to go on, I find that I am assigning traits to him, filling in the gaps with my own imagination. I worry… I worry sometimes that when he does finally choose to reveal himself, he may not measure up to the fantasy persona I've been creating."

And I will never reveal myself to her, for exactly that reason. She is expecting a romantic hero. I would be a disappointment.

She is finished with her tea, now, too, and places her cup on the floor near her feet. She stands, holding the blanket around her waist.

"Thank you so much for the tea, Severus, and the expert medical care. I am ready to go to my quarters, now. May I keep this blanket for the night, and return it to you tomorrow? I would rather not walk through the castle with my legs bare, even if it is fairly empty for the next few days."

"Of course you may keep it, if you wish, Hermione. But… If you would prefer, you may borrow my robes. A slight shrinking charm would make them fit you, and no one need know your legs are bare underneath."

Her face lights up. "Thank you, Severus! That is an excellent plan. You are so thoughtful. My own robes must still be in the greenhouse. I'll have to get them tomorrow."

I have not been wearing my robes much over the holiday anyway. I retrieve them from the peg on the back of my study door, mutter "Reducio" to shrink them several inches, and then hand them over to Hermione. She slips them on over her shirt and her makeshift blanket-skirt. The robes fall to her ankles – I gauged her height well. She reaches down and pulls the blanket out from underneath, folds it carefully, and places it on the divan.

"This is good, Severus," she says, admiring the fit of the robes. "I shouldn't attract any undue attention in this. I'll be going now. Thanks again for everything you've done for me." She takes the salve, and tucks it into the pocket of my robes.

"It was nothing, Hermione," I say, dismissively. "I would have done it for any colleague."

"Of course you would," she concurs. As she passes by me, she places a hand on my shoulder, rises to her toes, and kisses me on the cheek.

"Oh, Severus," she sighs, a note of sadness in her voice.

"Yes, Hermione?" I croak.

"I really hope that my secret admirer turns out to be an awful lot like you. It will be such a disappointment if he doesn't measure up."

My mouth drops open as she smiles once more, waves goodbye, and is gone.

* * *

_A/N 1: I tried really hard to get to the smut you've been waiting for into this chapter, but it just didn't QUITE make it. We're getting really close though. (I'm such a tease...) I have big plans, I promise. ;D_

_A/N 2: Severus's colorful curse, "Merlin's saggy left testicle," is ALMOST canon - Ron comes very close to saying this. It was Felena1971's teenaged son who suggested Snape say it in this story. Thanks, kiddo!_

_A/N 3: By the way, I didn't win anything in the Quill to Parchment awards, but I do thank you for your support. It was fun to be in the contest._


	10. Chapter 10: The Point of No Return

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the characters or setting – those belong to JK Rowling, to whom I am eternally grateful for creating the Potterverse. I'm just taking a couple of her characters out for a spin, but promise to return them, only slightly the worse for wear.

_A/N 1: This story is AU in that Severus Snape did not die. A rather brainy brunette saved him after Nagini's attack in DH. As much as is possible, I'll make this canon-compliant, though I'm ignoring the epilogue._

_A/N 2: Thanks to Felena1971 for listening to my ideas for this chapter, helping me fill in the gaps, and beta-reading the whole thing. She's the bomb._

**Chapter 10: The Point of No Return**

* * *

**Part one: Severus**

She hopes her secret admirer turns out to be like me? Or she'll be disappointed? She really does not know what's good for her. Why on earth should she be interested in me, when I send her out alone to gather ingredients in a potentially deadly, deserted greenhouse? She should be angry with me!

I suppose I ought to go get the cuttings she had been collecting, so that at least we have something to show for her injuries. I could retrieve her robes, too, and return them to her. It really is the least I can do, after almost getting her killed. I will not make a show of returning them, as I do not want to encourage her misplaced affections. Understated – yes, that is the way to go. I will just fold the robes neatly and put them on her chair in the dining hall for her.

As I walk across the grounds toward Greenhouse Two, I see the hole in the glass wall. It was good thinking to break the wall to alert Crawford that she needed help. Remarkable presence of mind, actually, for someone on the brink of losing consciousness. I shall have to repair the glass, as well, so that the chilly January air does not harm the delicate plants inside. Their environment has already been somewhat compromised for a couple of hours.

No sooner do I notice the broken glass, than it is suddenly repaired. Longbottom must have returned to the greenhouse. Perfect. Even now that we are colleagues, he is still nervous around me. My situation with Hermione has been so perplexing lately that I have felt rather out of sorts, but frightening Longbottom will go a long way toward making me feel more like myself. I fix my trademark scowl onto my face as I push open the door.

"Oh, hello again, Professor Snape!" The scowl slides off my face, as I am momentarily genuinely surprised. It is not a nervous Longbottom, but a grinning Geoffrey Crawford who greets me. What has he got to be so happy about?

"Mr. Crawford," I offer him the slightest nod of acknowledgement. I do not wish this whelp to become too familiar with me just because he had a hand in saving Hermione.

"I thought I'd come back and clean up a bit after Miss Granger's mishap. I've patched up the wall, and I've got her robes and her wand. I'll just bring them up to her quarters."

So that's it. He intends to play the hero with Hermione. As if she could be interested in him, a mere boy.

"That is very thoughtful of you, Mr. Crawford. However, Miss Granger is resting now. I must ask you not to disturb her for the time being. If you will hand the robes and wand to me, I will return them to her at a more appropriate time."

"No, thanks, Professor," he grins again. "I'll just wait a bit then and return them when she's ready for company."

Hmph. My wand hand itches, but I resist the urge to hex the smug bastard. "As you wish, Mr. Crawford. You are most… helpful. And now, if you will excuse me, I must gather the materials she was collecting for me, so they can be used in our Potions work together once she is fully recovered." I find her basket on the workbench. It has everything I had asked her to get, and a quick sniff tells me it is all still fresh enough to use. I shall put it in stasis in my lab until we can resume our project.

"Professor Snape?"

Ah, sweet Merlin. What now?

"Yes, Mr. Crawford?"

"I was hoping that Professor Longbottom wouldn't have to know I was here today. I think I have everything put back the way it was, so there's really no need to mention it, is there?"

Now he has earned my scowl, but – irritatingly – he does not seem intimidated.

"It's just that I was here collecting information on belladonna to get ahead on my NEWT level studies…"

"I believe your work here is done, Mr. Crawford. It can be dangerous to be in these greenhouses alone, as you well know." Smug, over-confident, kiss-arsing Ravenclaw. Get off to the library, where your kind belongs.

"Yes, Sir," he answers, disappointed to be leaving, but still seeming quite pleased with himself as he wads up Hermione's robes and tucks them and her wand under his arm, and exits.

At dinner, she is, predictably, not present. I have already sent a house-elf to her with a fine selection of food. Crawford has noticed her absence as well – his eyes have strayed here to our end of the staff table a number of times. He gathers some food into a bag, and I do not need to use Legilimency to know that he intends to bring her some dinner along with her robes and wand. I suppress a smile. He may have beaten me to the robes, but I have beaten him to the food. I would like to see the disappointment in his face when he discovers that she has already had a satisfying meal, well presented on a tray with a rosebud in a vase, rather than stuffed unceremoniously into a bag. And – why not see it? I will go along with him, invisibly, to watch as it unfolds. She will certainly reject his pitiful attempts at seduction, and I shall enjoy witnessing his failure.

I leave the Dining Hall ahead of Crawford, tuck into an alcove and Disillusion and Silencio myself. When he passes by, I follow.

* * *

**Part two: Hermione**

Dinner was delicious: Severus really knows how to take care of a girl. I hope he visits tonight, either in Mystery Man guise or – though I don't believe he is ready yet – as himself. I wanted to set the stage for a bit of seduction, but find I am at a bit of a loss without my wand, which I must have left in the greenhouse. I did eventually find some matches, and have lit the room with just enough candles for a bit of romance. My phonograph player works by magic alone – and I had wanted some soft piano music. For now, I just have silence. I do not own a corkscrew, so I am unable to open the bottle of cabernet to let it breathe. If he doesn't show, I had hoped to enjoy the music and wine alone, but I may have to find some other way to entertain myself. Well, I can always read.

My warm bath felt good on my Tentacula injuries. It is probably time to apply the salve for the evening, but I am still hoping I won't have to do it myself. I will wait as long as I can, only applying it myself if the pain becomes unbearable, or if he does not arrive by the time I am ready to sleep. I've put Severus's robe back on instead of my chenille bathrobe – the silk lining is so smooth it doesn't irritate my injuries, and… well, I just like its scent. It smells like Severus, all warm and musky and spicy. I know he wouldn't want my hair dripping onto his good robes, though – and again, I can't use a drying spell without my wand – so I've toweled myself as dry as possible and pulled my damp curls into a loose bun off my neck.

I scan my bookshelf looking for something to read, but I think I'm too restless to settle to anything. My thoughts are full of Severus, as I inhale his scent and anticipate his arrival. Maybe I should write, instead. I gather my journal, my ink, and my quill, and return to my sitting room couch. I really am running out of pages in this journal. I shall have to get a new one before long. I suck on the end of my eagle-feather quill as I flip through the pages. It might be interesting to reread some of my entries, to see how my feelings about Severus have changed through the year. What color was the ink when I first started writing about him?

Ah, yes… I got the journal for my birthday, but was using regular ink through the end of September and all of October until Halloween night. So all my early entries about him were in black. By the time I had the special ink, he had already kissed me at the Shrieking Shack. My journal entries about Severus back then were angry reds, confused browns, and – frequently – passionate purples. These days, the reds and browns are almost nonexistent (having been replaced by the silver ink that must signify affection), but the purple is still showing itself on a regular basis. Rereading some of those purple passages is having an effect on me, and I chuckle as I notice my hair is not the only part of me that is damp, now.

A knock sounds at the door. A knock? My heart leaps into my throat, as this can only mean that he has come as Severus. Mystery Man has never knocked – he just lets himself in.

I place the journal, ink, and quill on the table, and stand, fighting the urge to dash to the door. "Just a moment!" I call. I smooth the robes, check that my hair is still in place, and take a deep steadying breath, before pulling open the door to find… Geoffrey Crawford? "Oh!" I say. Brilliant. He holds out a bundle – my robes and wand. Well, thank goodness for that.

"Thank you, Mr. Crawford," I say, taking my belongings and peering behind him into the hallway, which is, alas, empty. "Won't you… come in?" He has already let himself in.

"I'd love to, Miss Granger. And please, call me Geoff." He walks into my quarters, and looks around appraisingly.

I close my door, and turn to face him, when a shiver races up my spine. And then… "Oh, gods!" Lips are brushing gently against the back of my exposed neck! He IS here! I feel myself flush from my toes to my scalp.

"What is it?" asks Crawford, concerned.

"N-nothing," I tell him, thinking fast. "I- I just realized what's probably in the bag you are carrying." I reach my hands behind my back and feel rough wool. I grab hold for support, and hands snake around my waist.

"Dinner for you!" he announces, proudly.

"That's… that's very kind of you, Mr. Crawford, but, as you can see, I have already dined." I gesture to the tray, and Crawford looks disheartened.

I press myself backward into Severus's warmth. "I'm so glad you've come," I breathe.

Crawford's half-smile indicates confusion. He seems to sense that I was not speaking to him, but as far as he knows, he is the only person here. "It was no problem, Miss Granger," he says, watching me carefully. "I wanted to be make sure you are recovering well."

I barely register that he is speaking. "Won't you sit with me?" I ask softly. Severus's arms release me, and I make my way to the couch. Crawford, believing the invitation was for him, joins me there. Well, this will certainly be cozy… I sit in the middle. Crawford smiles broadly, apparently thinking I want to sit close to him, and sits on my left. Severus sits on my right, but I believe my body will hide the indentation in the cushion from Crawford's uncomprehending eyes.

"Does your leg hurt much?" Crawford asks, solicitously. "I only wish I had gotten there sooner, so I could have stopped it from hurting you so much. It was a good thing I was so close by, at least."

Severus is stroking lightly down my arm with one finger, and I can feel his warm breath in my right ear. "Yes," I sigh. My nipples are hard under Severus's robes. I hope Crawford can't tell. Severus, I imagine, is quite aware of what he's doing to me. With my body turned slightly turned toward Crawford, I put my right hand onto Severus's thigh, which presses against me. When I slide the hand toward the back of the couch, I find what I want – he is rock hard with desire for me, too.

"Oh, it must be hurting you," Crawford says, misinterpreting my squirm of pleasure. "Do you have any medicine to put on it?"

"Oh, yes," I sigh again, when Severus's hand closes over mine, both of us now holding his impressive erection. I swallow, and gasp. I can barely breathe.

Crawford, undaunted, and apparently mistaking my struggle for oxygen as an indicator that his attentions are welcome, smirks at me, and leans in close. His big blue eyes meet my half-lidded brown ones, and he offers his services. "I would love to help you apply your medicine, Miss Granger. I promise to be very gentle."

How ridiculous. Blue eyes don't smolder the way Severus's black ones do. I've got to get this boy out of my quarters, and fast, before I lose what little control I have maintained. I take a shuddering breath, and attempt to sound firm.

"Mr. Crawford, I don't need your help with the medicine," I tell him. "Besides, it is terribly inappropriate for you to suggest such a thing, as you are a student here."

"But you're not really on the staff, are you?" He isn't taking no for an answer. "And I am of age…"

"No, thank you, Mr. Crawford. I appreciate everything you've done for me today, but it is time for you to go."

I can see the hurt in his eyes, but I don't care. Severus's breath in my ear comes in short bursts. I am sure he is laughing.

Crawford rises, and walks slowly to the door. Though it is one of the hardest things I've ever done, I rise from the couch, leaving Severus behind, and follow Crawford to the door to see him out. He looks at me again, and the poor fool still has hope in his eyes. "Some other time, then," he says.

"Goodnight, Mr. Crawford," I tell him, in a very final tone of voice. He leaves, and I close and lock the door behind him.

I turn to face the couch, leaning back on my door for support for a moment. "I thought he'd never leave," I sigh with relief toward the indentation still on the couch.

My right hand strokes down my neck where I had felt his breath against my skin, and slides down to the top button of the robes. I unbutton it, then the next as well, and slide my hand across my collarbones and attempt to get my breath back under control.

"You are very naughty to have done that to me while he was here," I tell him, in what I hope is a sultry voice, rather than a scolding one.

I return to the couch, suddenly self-conscious of my every movement. I realize I don't actually know how to seduce a man. I've never tried. With Ron, there was never any pursuing, on either side. We were just… together. I don't know how to play this game, except for images from Muggle romance films and my mother's cheap paperback novels she reads on holidays. I sit, right next to him again, even though there is more room on the couch now that Crawford is gone.

He has taken up my quill and ink, and writes in my journal. What foresight I had to leave it out!

_I wanted to be sure you knew I was here_, he writes, in silver ink.

"I'm exquisitely aware of your presence," I say, breathlessly.

_Nice robes_. This time it's purple. I can almost hear the smirk. I will play along.

"Thank you," I say, "I borrowed them from a friend."

My own robes float up from the table where I placed them after Crawford brought them back, as if asking a question.

"Yes, I DO have my own robes. But my friend has excellent sartorial taste – these robes are lined with silk, and they feel delicious against my skin. Besides, I like the way they smell." I lift the collar of the robes to my nose and inhale deeply.

_Must be a good friend_, he writes. Green ink? What is that?

"Getting better all the time," I tell him. "In fact, I got hurt today, and he took very good care of me. You heard Crawford talking about it. Could you help me apply this salve to my wounds?" I pull my wand from the table and summon the salve from my bedroom. Then I extend it toward him.

Instead of taking it, he gently pushes it back toward me. I get his meaning. I told Crawford I didn't need help.

"No," I correct him. "I said I didn't need HIS help. I would love to have YOUR help. I loved the way you massaged my ankles after I went ice-skating that day. I can't imagine a more pleasant way to treat my injuries than to have your help. Won't you?" I extend the salve again.

He takes it this time. I watch as the jar opens itself, and some of the contents leap out, seemingly of their own accord. I scoot so that my back is against the arm of the couch, and swing my legs up into his lap again. My robes – his robes, that is – lift up slightly, and the salve spreads itself over the tiny puncture marks that encircle my ankle.

Gods, he's got fabulous hands. I sink back into the couch and close my eyes, as he works the medicine into my skin.

He pushes the robes farther up my leg, exposing my calf. There is a pause, and then I feel more of the salve on my lower leg, being massaged in gently, but firmly. Oh, Merlin – next is my thigh.

"There's more," I tell him, though he knows it perfectly well. "Here, let me help you." Opening my eyes and sitting up a bit, I reach down and unfasten the lower part of the robes, exposing my leg high enough for him to see the ring of marks around my mid-thigh.

More of the salve escapes from the jar, and begins to spread out on my now heated flesh. Once more, I lie back and close my eyes. His long fingers tease me, so close to where I desperately want them. I try not to squirm too much, but can't contain the moan that slips out from between my parted lips.

I can tell the medicine is worked into the wounds now – the slight itching that had started after my bath has stopped entirely, and I feel his bare hands on my bare flesh, nothing, not even the salve, between us now.

I press my other foot into his lap. He is enjoying this as much as I am.

"That feels so good," I tell him. And then. I say it.

"Please."

Oh, dear gods, please!

"Don't stop."

Don't ever stop.

* * *

**Part three: Severus**

I hesitate, and she holds her breath. This is it – the point of no return. Once I cross over this brink, I cannot go back. I will never be able to undo what I am about to do. Is this what I truly want? She waits, breathless, eyes closed, her arousal written plainly across her features. My own arousal is just as plainly evident to us both. But is it me that she wants? Yes, I believe that it is. She may not know yet that I am Severus Snape, but she wants me, now. And she wants him – that is to say, me – as well.

And holy hell, she is begging me. She is all but writhing under my palms. How much strength would a man have to have to resist her?

More than I have. And as at the moment I cannot come up with a good reason why I should resist her in the first place, I do as she asks. I don't stop.

My hands continue to massage her creamy thigh, and I move the fabric of my robe to expose its twin. I part her thighs gently, sliding my hands further up her legs, caressing, stroking, my fingers brushing against her pubic curls, which are dripping wet. She moans, and raises her arms, grabbing her own hair, pulling it out of the pile on her head. I draw my gaze up from her beautiful pussy to her face, her fierce expression, surrounded by her wild hair. She presses her hands to her temples and tosses her head from side to side. I watch her intently as I slide one finger into her tight heat. She inhales sharply, her lips forming a perfect "O" before a blissful smile spreads slowly across them.

"Yes, yes, yes," she moans, as I slide slowly in and out of her, adding a second finger, which makes her writhe and squirm. Sweet Merlin, she is so hot, so wet, and so fucking tight, it makes my cock ache. I brush my thumb against her clitoris and she practically jumps. I chuckle softly. She's so responsive. Weasley is a fucking idiot to let her go.

With my left hand, I unfasten the rest of the robe. It falls open to reveal her heaving breasts and taut belly. Gods, I want to taste her, all of her. But my hair – if she feels it brushing against her, she will know. Do I care? I don't know, and this is not the time to decide. I grab my wand and summon a hair ribbon from her bedroom, and tie my hair back. Quite impressive, actually – I did the entire process with my left hand, and I don't think I broke my rhythm at all with my right.

I shift so that I am kneeling between her knees, supporting myself with my left hand, and still pleasuring her with my right as I dip my mouth down to one pink nipple. She cries out for more. I am only too happy to oblige. I brush my lips across the nipple before taking it gently in my teeth and tugging on it lightly. Then I kiss the soft curve of the underside of her breast. I continue to explore her body, kissing down her ribs to her soft, quivering belly.

Her hips buck, as she moves against my hand, riding it. I swirl my tongue in circles, working ever lower, toward the brown curls at the apex of her thighs.

"Oh, oh," she pants. "Oh, please, please." I smile as I nip her gently on the hipbone – further from where she wants my mouth. But, after all, she did ask so nicely. I will give her what she wants.

My weight back on my knees, I use my left hand to part her wet folds, and again she inhales sharply. I lower my tongue to taste her, and she is sweeter than I had imagined. I lick up her juices hungrily, still keeping a steady pace with my right hand, and feeling her begin to tighten around my fingers. I flick her tight bud of nerves just once with my tongue, and she screams. Oh, Merlin, I love a screamer.

"Please, please, please," she cries, and I can only give in to her. Once, twice, three times, I gently caress her clit with my tongue, and she convulses around me crying out, incoherent, clawing at her hair, and my shoulder. I remove my fingers slowly and greedily drink from her.

* * *

**Part four: Hermione**

Oh. My. GOD! He is fucking incredible! As soon as I am able to move, I sit up, feel my way to his chest, and knock him backwards so that HE is now up against the arm of the couch. I unfasten every button I can find, working my way downward, finally freeing his erection from its fabric prison.

I can't see it, of course. But I can feel it. I can smell it. Oh, dear gods, I can taste it.

I imagine this is somewhat easier with a visible man, but I get the hang of it quickly. With one hand, I keep a grip on his thick cock, stroking slowly up and down. With the other, I explore his chest, his belly, his balls. My mouth follows, licking a nipple, tracing from his navel to the base of his cock, circling around to the tender underside of his heavy sac.

I wish I could hear him and see him so I had more evidence that I am giving him what he wants. I really don't have much experience. But all the evidence I have tells me that I'm on the right track. I can feel that he is as hard as steel – but covered in velvety soft skin that smells so good. I nuzzle his balls with my nose and slide up the length of him, inhaling deeply the whole way. When I reach out my tongue and lick the very tip of him, his cock twitches hard in my hand.

Mmmm, liked that, did you, Severus?

I circle the head with my tongue, and then take it into my mouth. His hips buck, asking for more.

I slide my lips down over him, taking as much into my mouth as I can. His hand cups my face, guides me gently. I pull away, almost completely, then slide back down. His hands are in my hair, stroking me, and it's all too much. I give in, stroking up and down with my lips and my hand, while my other hand cups his balls. His hips stroke into me, filling my mouth, fucking my mouth. I'm not sure how much longer I can keep this up! But before long, I feel his balls tighten in my hand, and his cock pulse in my other hand just before his hot seed shoots into my mouth. I think I've sucked it all down, and I wipe my lips with the back of my hand.

I wrap my arms around him, and lean my head against his chest. I am careful not to reach for his face, allowing him his "secret" for now, even though I desperately want to kiss him. I kiss his chest instead. His arms cross over my back. His chest heaves under my face. I inhale deeply again, wanting to keep his scent forever.

How long we rest like this, I cannot say. Eventually, our breathing returns to normal.

"You're incredible," I tell him. He strokes my cheek in response.

"Will you stay?" I ask. And once more, he writes the word _No_ on my back.

I knew he was going to say that, but it couldn't hurt to ask.

I pull away, trying not to look too disappointed.

"When will I see you again?"

He places my hand flat against his chest, so I can feel him laugh.

"Fine then, if 'see' isn't the right word. When will you visit again?"

He traces the word _Soon_ on the inside of my forearm.

"I wish I could see you and hear you. I would love to hear you telling me what you want, and how I make you feel."

My quill rises into the air, dips into my inkbottle, and travels toward my journal, which opens.

_Patience_, he writes, in silver again._ Trust me, I'm getting what I want. And I think you can tell how you make me feel. _This last part, in purple.

"What does the silver ink mean?"

_You are an intelligent witch_, he writes. _You will figure it out._

"I think I already know. But if I'm right, why won't you reveal yourself to me yet?"

_I must go_, he writes. _I promise I will return soon._

He is placing my belongings back onto the table, preparing to leave. But when he showed me his last entry, something else caught my eye – another mystery, and perhaps this one is one that he will answer for me.

"Before you go, I- I have another question!" I reopen the journal and point to his sentence '_Must be a good friend.' _

What is this about? What does the green ink signify?"

He retrieves the quill, ink, and journal, and writes.

_I was jealous of your friend._

My mouth drops open. How can he be jealous of himself? Except that he doesn't know that I know… so he believes I have feelings for two separate men. And now, what can I say to him that would be reassuring without also hurting him?

"You are both very special men. I share a lot with him – we work together, sometimes on very intense projects, and we have become quite close. I admire him deeply and always enjoy spending time with him. But we do not have a physical relationship at all – we shared one kiss, months ago, but that has been all. And I care for him a great deal, but I care for you as well. What you and I have is incredible in its own way. Even though you've never shown yourself to me, I've felt you, watching over me, caring for me. And now, what we've just shared was beyond amazing. If I could somehow merge the two of you…"

He reaches up and caresses my jaw tenderly. Then he writes again in my journal, _You have given me a great deal to think about, but I must go. You need to rest so your wounds can heal. I will return soon._ He shows me his words, then places the journal in my hands, pressing them with his own as he leans in and kisses me on the cheek. And then he is gone – his hands, his lips – they leave me, and the door opens, and he is gone.

* * *

_A/N: Happy Birthday to me! I won't even tell you how old I am, 'cause it's too scary. One of my reviewers (you know who you are!) tells me I must be young at heart because I lust after a few fictional characters. "A few?" I said, and started counting. I think I came up with a baker's dozen, but now must add another: Captain Hook as played by Jason Isaacs (yes, Lucius Malfoy) in the 2003 live action Peter Pan film. Don't love him as a blond Death Eater. But as a sexy, swarthy pirate? Oh, yeah. That man should be shirtless on film far more often, in my opinion. (And don't argue with me about it – respect your elders!)_

_So – to get back to this fic – as a birthday present to me – how's about a review of this chapter? It is probably the smuttiest, most graphic thing I have ever written. I got a bit carried away. After holding out on you for 9 chapters, I really let loose in this one._

_A/N 2: If you haven't read it yet, and you like fluffy slashy stories, be sure to check out "Getting Lucky" by me and Felena1971._


	11. Chapter 11: Best Birthday Ever

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the characters or setting – those belong to JK Rowling, to whom I am eternally grateful for creating the Potterverse. I'm just taking a couple of her characters out for a spin, but promise to return them, only slightly the worse for wear.

_A/N 1: This story is AU in that Severus Snape did not die. A rather brainy brunette saved him after Nagini's attack in DH. As much as is possible, I'll make this canon-compliant, though I'm ignoring the epilogue._

_A/N 2: **Felena1971** was absolutely instrumental with this chapter. The section with Harry & Snape was a total blank for me, but she saw what needed to happen. Thanks again, babe!_

_A/N 3: Special thanks to **DracoLoverForever**, who inspired the initial dialogue._

**Chapter 11: Best Birthday Ever**

* * *

**Part one: Harry**

"Does he know you know?"

"No," she chuckles confidently.

"How do you know he doesn't know you know?"

"I don't know," she muses. "I just know."

Well, that was helpful… This is the first time I've talked to Hermione since her New Year's Day epiphany, and I have been quite curious how things are developing between her and Severus. Severus turns 43 today (weird to think that my parents would be that old – when they died, they were younger than I am now), and he and I have dinner plans for his birthday. I wanted to know the state of affairs (so to speak) before I see him, so I've taken Hermione out for lunch.

We sit in the Hog's Head Inn, the remains of our lunches attracting flies in the grimy pub, which still smells slightly of goats. When Aberforth brought us our meals, he merely grunted hello. Even though he is never friendly, I continue to frequent the Hog's Head every time I am in Hogsmeade. I am grateful to Aberforth for everything he did for us, and even though he never does more than acknowledge my presence, it's important to me to keep showing up.

The good news is that since we are in a public place, I have guaranteed that Hermione will be properly clothed. The last time I saw her, I saw more than I should have. It was horribly embarrassing, and I don't need a repeat performance.

"How is your work with him going?"

She offers a wry laugh. "Well, we had a little incident, and then… a rather different kind of incident, and now he's trying to spend as little time around me as possible. I've been doing a lot of independent research in the library for the past several days."

Oh, so it's happened. This whatever-it-is that is developing between my two friends is getting in the way of their work.

"Shit, Hermione," I say, patting her on the shoulder in a very non-sexual way. "I'm sorry to hear that. Have you told Poppy?"

"Gods, no!" She looks at me as though I have lost my mind. "I want to keep her out of this for as long as possible – ideally until after the school year has ended and my training is over. What are you so sorry about, anyway? Everything is fine!"

"It doesn't sound fine," I tell her. "He's avoiding you, and you've been kicked out of his lab and sent to the library."

"No, no," she says, "I'm not worried. He'll come around. He's actually been making good progress lately, but he's a two-steps-forward, one-step-back kind of man. Right now he's stepping back so he can come to terms with his feelings. And the research is good work, too."

I have been watching her face carefully. Her words are confident, but I think I see something else in her eyes.

"You sound so certain about all this, Hermione. I know you've been spending quite a bit of time with him this year, but can you really know him so well? He's always been such a private man. How can you know what he's feeling?"

"I suppose I don't know for sure," she admits, slumping slightly in her seat. "But that's what I believe is going on. He said I'd given him a lot to think about, and he promised he'd come back soon. I don't think he'll be able to stay away too much longer, so I plan to just wait him out."

I laugh out loud. Is Hermione out-maneuvering Severus Snape?

"Is there anything I need to know about these 'incidents' you mentioned?" I ask. "I mean, I don't want any of the gory details about what you may or may not have been doing with our esteemed Potions Master, but…"

"Well, let me see what I can tell you without saying too much," she says, blushing. "We were studying the way he handled Dumbledore's cursed hand, and he was about to teach me how to brew the Decursify Potion. He sent me to the greenhouses for the freshest possible ingredients, and the Venomous Tentacula got me."

"What? Where the hell was Neville?"

"With Hannah," she laughs. "It was fine – a seventh year student was nearby, and brought me to Severus."

"To Severus? Where the hell was Madam Pomfrey?" Where are all the people who are supposed to be protecting my best friend from vicious weeds?

"She was taking a few days off to visit her family. That's not the important issue, here, Harry, stay with me."

I nod, but I can't help but find this story quite alarming so far.

"So Severus gave me the antidote to the Tentacula poison, and a salve for my leg where the thorns pricked my skin, and a cup of tea, and his robes to wear back to my quarters after I was recovered enough to walk there."

"His robes? What did you need them for?"

"To cover my legs, of course, Harry. Aren't you paying attention? He had to vanish my jeans so he could put the salve on my wounds."

Oh. Of course. He vanished her jeans, and rubbed her naked legs, and then sent her off in his robes. I've lost the power of speech. I nod once more to show I am not catatonic.

"I'm trying to lay the groundwork for him to reveal himself to me, finally, as the mysterious gift-giver. I told him that I hoped the Mystery Man would come that night to put the medicine on for me, and I also told him I hoped that when I finally learned Mystery Man's identity, that it would be someone like him – like Severus, that is."

She didn't! That's a pretty clear invitation. He'd have to be an idiot not to have shown up that night.

"I take it he came that night?" I croak. Oh, Gods! "To visit, I mean!" Stupid, stupid, stupid.

"He did visit." She's blushing again, and I'm sure I am, too. "And he did help with the medicine. And we got a bit carried away. I mean, not THAT carried away! But, yeah, pretty carried away. That's probably all I should say, really." She grins. "And after that night, we haven't spent much time together."

"So, does that mean that you two haven't yet –"

"No, not yet. I told you, not THAT carried away!"

"Gods, Hermione," I yelp. "That's not what I was asking!" I really don't want the details. I was actually trying to steer the conversation back to more comfortable waters. "I was just asking if you haven't yet brewed that potion that he used on Dumbledore."

"Oh, Harry, I'm sorry!" she laughs, her face as red as the hangings in the Gryffindor dormitories. "No, we haven't done that either. We'll get to it, I'm sure. Right now he's got me researching the Cruciatus curse, which is quite interesting. We're going to see if we can devise a more effective treatment for Neville's parents, and others who are damaged by the curse."

Her color has returned to normal already, and she is in full academic ecstasy mode, talking animatedly about the research. It would be incredible if they could do something for Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom. If anyone can help them, Hermione and Severus are the people to do it.

"Severus is really excited about it, too," she gushes, "even though he doesn't show it much. He said he had spent some time working on a potion to try to counteract the effects of Cruciatus many years ago, but he didn't meet with any success. Something I said when I was describing Muggle CAT scans the other day got him interested in revisiting the problem. Working together, we might have a chance of doing some good."

Hermione talks for another ten minutes about her research, while I nod politely at the right moments. I don't understand half of what she is saying. My mind wanders to the connection between Neville and me, and how it had almost been his parents killed by Voldemort so very long ago. Frank and Alice Longbottom have been almost as absent from Neville's life as my parents have been from mine. I can well imagine what it would mean to him if Hermione and Severus were to succeed in restoring even some of his parents' functioning.

By the time we arrive back at Hogwarts, it feels just like old times again: Hermione excited about another project, and itching to run off to the library to continue her work. I hug her tightly, and let her go. I have a few hours before I meet with Severus. Just enough time to borrow a school broom and soar around the old Quidditch pitch a bit, and spend a little time at Hagrid's hut.

* * *

**Part 2: Severus**

"Happy Birthday, Severus," he says, grinning, as soon as I open my door. He extends a bottle. It is a fine, aged cognac. Nice choice, though I told him not to bring me anything.

I roll my eyes, and let him in. What on earth am I doing? This boy – oh, fine: man – pursued a relationship with me after the war, and I have allowed it. He wants to be my friend. I do not have friends. I have very little need for company. I have colleagues with whom I am forced to interact, and that has been more than enough of humanity for me.

It is… interesting to have this non-collegial relationship – comradeship, I suppose one might call it. Because I needed to give him my memories in order for him to defeat the Dark Lord, Harry now knows me better than anyone left alive. Only Albus knew me better, and we all know what became of THAT relationship. I suppose there is some comfort in spending time with a person who knows me for who I am, and what I have had to do.

He still infuriates me, sometimes. And he looks exactly like his smug father. Only the depth of his green eyes softens the image.

"Thank you, Harry," I say, taking the bottle, and I invite him into my quarters.

I have a meal waiting for us. Though we do occasionally spend time together, I prefer not to do so in public. The boy – man! – attracts far too much attention. Dining here will be more private and more comfortable.

We sit, and eat, in silence.

Eventually, he feels the need for dialogue. He asks how my school year is going, and I tell him the students are, of course, dunderheads. He laughs, a hearty chortle. It wasn't so long ago that he was the chief dunderhead in my classroom.

To make conversation, I ask about his work as an Auror. He and Weasley are frequently teamed up (surprise…), he says, and they are working to track down the last remaining Death Eaters and bring them to trial. It is strange to hear him talking about them. He is hunting people I know well. I say as little as possible. I do not wish to discuss that period of my life.

To distract him, I ask after Weasley. Harry raises an eyebrow at me, and answers that Ron is doing well at work, but that he is spending far too much time at Grimmauld Place with Harry and Ginny, moping about. I do my best to suppress a smirk. Harry knows, of course, that Hermione and I kissed at Halloween – the kiss that was the catalyst for her break-up with Weasley. He does not know that I also provided the pendant that sealed their fate. And he certainly does not know that she will never go back to Weasley because she cannot get enough of me – as invisible lover or as visible colleague.

I have been denying Hermione the pleasure of my company for several days. She has been journaling extensively in the interim, however, mostly in purple and silver. She wants me. The fact that Weasley suffers because of it is icing on the proverbial cake. Hermione, of course, is the cake in this scenario. Delicious, moist cake. Since I am two men in her life, perhaps – to use another proverb – I can have my cake and eat it, too. I salivate and swallow, feel blood rush to my groin. I do love a challenge, and seducing the little minx in both of my incarnations would be a delectable challenge indeed.

"Severus," he says, calling me back from my reverie. When I meet his green eyes again, they appear troubled.

"Don't think I don't know why you asked about Ron," he says, his voice challenging me, but not exactly accusing me of anything.

"I cannot imagine what you mean," I tell him. "I am merely making… what is it called… small talk. Polite dinner conversation. Is this not how it is done? We ask about that which is important in each other's lives, and feign interest in the response?"

"It's because of Hermione," he says, watching my face carefully.

I do not respond, instead taking another bite of my roast beef and chewing it slowly. He cannot possibly know. Even if Hermione told him about her last encounter in her quarters, he would have no way of connecting me to it.

"She is the link between you and Ron. He hasn't been the same since Halloween when he heard that she kissed another man, and worse – that it was you. She hasn't been the same, either, for that matter."

My turn to raise an eyebrow. Roast beef is a convenient excuse for silence. I take another bite.

"I honestly don't know if they would have made a good couple, Severus. But when you kissed Hermione, it threw everything into question for both of them. She told me about it at Christmas. I don't think Ron ever made her feel the way you made her feel that night. You must be quite the kisser, Severus, if she was still talking about it like that almost two months later."

"Don't get any ideas, Potter," I tell him, using my gruffest Potions Master voice. "I'm not kissing you."

He literally falls out of his chair laughing. I take it back – he is not a man. He is still, quite definitely, a boy. At least he recognized that I was being humorous, in my own way.

"Seriously, though, Severus," he starts, after picking himself up and straightening his shirt. "I am worried about them both. They've been best friends for half their lives, and now they aren't even on speaking terms. I think eventually it will get easier, but right now it must be pretty difficult for both of them. Ginny and I will take care of Ron, though we may try to pass him off to George and Angelina now and then so we can have a bit of privacy once in a while."

I shudder unintentionally. I do not need to think about why Harry and Ginny need privacy. They are still children to me. (Hermione, on the other hand, seemed more mature at 15 than most people do at 30.) And George – he whose ear I inadvertently severed – is now married as well. I never liked the Weasley twins, but even I cannot help but feel pity when I remember that George lost so much more than an ear by the time the war ended.

"But I can't be here at Hogwarts to take care of Hermione," Harry continues. "She told me you took care of her after the Venomous Tentacula got her." He blushes, which alarms me. What precisely did she tell him? As far as she knows, my "help" was limited to the administration of the antidote, and the initial application of the salve.

"Thanks for that, Severus. Now I owe you even more than I did before, since you saved my best friend. But if you don't mind, I need to ask you for another favor."

I eye him noncommittally. In recent years, I have gotten into a fair amount of trouble by agreeing to perform favors for people – Narcissa Malfoy and Albus Dumbledore chief among them.

"Have you heard that Hermione's been getting some anonymous gifts?" he asks.

"I have," I answer.

"She seems so caught up in the excitement of having a mysterious admirer that she has not been careful about checking the gifts for curses. I know I probably sound like Mad-Eye, but she's not been constantly vigilant. It's very unlike her, actually. She's the one who had McGonagall confiscate my Firebolt to check it for curses, but when it comes to gifts from the Mystery Man, as she's dubbed him, she's too trusting."

"And the favor you need?"

"She doesn't have the same gift for getting into trouble that I do," he says, and truer words were never spoken, "but I'd just feel better if I knew you were keeping an eye on her. Could you just… you know, try to look out for her?"

"I assure you, Harry, I am already keeping an eye on her. I work with her regularly, and sit next to her at almost every meal. If anything were amiss, I would be the first to know."

"Thank you, Severus," he says, and he actually looks quite relieved. "I know she trusts you and feels safe with you, and I trust you, too."

Idiots, both of them. I am not trustworthy. Sometimes, I do not even trust myself.

"You don't have any idea who it is, do you?" he asks. "The mystery gift-giver?"

"No," I say, with complete conviction. "None at all. Do you have any ideas yourself?" First rule of effective lying: deflect attention away from yourself.

He frowns, a crease in the center of his forehead running almost parallel to his famous scar. "I don't," he says, "but Hermione has a theory. She refuses to tell me who she thinks it is until she is certain." He looks at his hands, seeming unsure what to do with them.

So she has a guess, does she? Could she suspect me? I ought to sneak into her quarters again and read some of her recent journal entries, just to be sure. It would be far more fun if she does not realize we two are the same entity, as I currently have the opportunity to seduce her twice. Not to mention that if she does make the connection, I would have some explaining to do. She would probably be angry with me. She said she wanted to merge the two men into one, but I doubt she has fully contemplated the implications of what that would mean. The discovery could well end the entire affair, not to mention her internship with me. It would be best to keep her in the dark until June, at least.

"While this is all quite fascinating, Harry, I assure you, I have no interest in gossiping about her private affairs. It appears that sharing a common room for seven years with the likes of Miss Brown and Miss Patil has negatively affected you."

"All right then," he laughs. "We talked about my work, and your teaching. How about your research? I hear you have some ideas about a new approach to repairing damage from Cruciatus?"

"I do," I say, relieved at the new line of questioning. "Hermione's knowledge of Muggle medicine has provided me with a fresh perspective on the problem. We are now researching potions and spells that could focus our restorative efforts on the particular areas of the brain that are involved."

I go on for several more minutes. I have long sought a cure for the damage from the Cruciatus curse, and the potential in our new tactic is encouraging. I can tell, though, that I have lost him. His eyes have that familiar glazed-over look he used to get in Potions. The boy is not an intellectual. It is so much more rewarding to discuss this sort of thing with Hermione, who understands what I say, and who gets as passionate about the work as I do. Perhaps I have kept her at arm's length long enough.

* * *

**Part three: Hermione**

It was great to see Harry again. I hope his dinner with Severus is going well. It's weird… I haven't seen Severus since breakfast today, since I ate lunch at the Hog's Head, and he's eating dinner with Harry. Poppy is back from vacation and jabbering into my right ear about her visit with her family, but I'm really not listening. The empty chair on my left is speaking even louder. I haven't been spending as much time with Severus, now that our "sessions" have consisted of my solo research in the restricted section. But I am still accustomed to seeing Severus at meals, at least. Today just feels wrong.

* * *

**Part four: Severus**

Once again, I creep through the corridors, invisible and silent. It is near midnight, and I expect her to be asleep. I intend to eavesdrop on her thoughts by reading some of her recent journal entries. I need to know whom she suspects of bringing her the gifts.

I try the door. It is unlocked. Harry was right – she is far too trusting.

In the bedroom, at the writing desk, I find the journal. I pick it up, and turn it over in my hands, a momentary doubt filling my mind. But no – I must know what she is thinking, and if she is trusting enough to write her most intimate thoughts in a journal and not even lock her door at night, then any self-respecting Slytherin would take advantage of the situation. I am, of course, a self-respecting Slytherin. I proceed.

She appears to be sleeping soundly, curled on her right side, with Crookshanks nestled against her back. Her hair spills across the pillow; her soft lips are gently parted. Her breath is slow and even.

I carry the journal to the armchair by the window, hoping for enough moonlight to be able to read. No – the light is insufficient. Where is a damned full moon when I need one? I light my wand, soundlessly. The cat, of course, awakes, stretches, leaps lightly to the floor, and pads over to me. As the cat leaps to my lap, Hermione moves. Her breathing is suddenly faster, uneven. Her fingers twitch in her sleep. She rolls to her back, and the duvet slides down to her waist, exposing her arms and the mounds of her breasts barely contained by the low-cut silk of her nightgown. She sighs sleepily. Then she moans, "Ohhh, Severus…." Sweet Merlin, she's dreaming about me! She stretches in her sleep, her back arching deliciously, and one hand strays to her breasts. "Oh, yes," she sighs, writhing under the duvet. "Severus, please!"

The journal, forgotten, slips from my hand, and lands with a loud thunk. Her eyes open, and she stares around in confusion.

"Nox," I say (silently), and my wandlight goes out, but not in time. A Hand of Glory would have been very helpful tonight, I realize too late.

"I've missed you," she breathes. "Are you really here? Or am I still dreaming?"

She's missed me? She was just dreaming about Severus! Either she knows that the two of us are one and the same, or she has no compunctions about being involved with two men at once. I am not sure which option I prefer. If only I had had time to read a little of her journal.

* * *

**Part five: Hermione**

I was in the middle of a very good dream. Severus and I were in my old dormitory, with the hangings drawn. He was kissing me all over, and my hands were in his hair, and I think we were about to have sex… And then something woke me, but I don't know what.

In a brief glimpse before everything got dark, I thought I saw Crookshanks sitting several inches off the armchair, and a lit wand. Now I can't see much. I throw back the duvet and swing my legs over the side of the bed. As I approach the armchair, images become clearer: the telltale depression in the chair cushion, the cat in midair.

I kneel in front of the chair, and sweep Crookshanks to the floor. I run my hands greedily along his invisible thighs. "You are here," I sigh. "Make yourself comfortable, and stay with me for awhile," I tell him. I slip off his shoes, peel off his socks, run my hands up under his trouser legs – I want to feel every part of him. His legs are long and lean. I part them, and wiggle in closer so that my chest is between his knees. His long fingers run through my hair, caress my jaw, and drop to the tops of my breasts, then around them, each hand cupping a breast inside the loose silk of my nightgown. His thumbs brush my nipples. I slide a thumb along the outline of his erection and feel him shudder.

Feeling my way, I unfasten his trousers and unbutton his shirt. He does not stop me. When I hold his hand and rise to my feet, he rises, too. I push the shirt off of his shoulders, and feel my way down to his chest, following my hands with my mouth.

* * *

**Part six: Severus**

"I need you," she whispers to me, between the kisses and licks she is spreading all over my torso. "Tonight."

She tugs on my trousers, drops them to my ankles. Slides her fingers into the waistband of my shorts. I gasp as she brushes against my cock. My gods, this is the night. Can I do this, without giving myself away? Fortunately, I'd had the foresight to tie back my hair, just in case. She may know my identity, regardless. I cannot know. My shorts join my trousers on the floor and I step out of them. I am naked. Naked and wandless. Vulnerable. Naked and invisible and almost painfully erect, and in Hermione Granger's bedroom. And she wants me. Needs me. Tonight. Now.

She turns her back to me and looks over her shoulder coyly as she lifts her nightgown. It slides up, flowing over her curves, exposing her bare and luscious backside. Her skin, in the low light coming through the windows, is flawless. She lifts the gown over her head, baring her back, the planes of her shoulder blades sliding back down as she drops the gown to the floor at her feet. I step up behind her, wrap my arms around her waist, inhaling the aroma of her hair. My cock presses into her lower back, and she drops her head onto my shoulder. My hands explore her body – one hand rising, caressing the fullness of her breast, and the other falling, brushing though pubic curls and cupping her mound. Her chest rises and falls in heaving breaths, and the damp heat of her pussy invites me to slide my middle finger into her ready tightness.

"Ohhh, yes," she moans, and arches into me, pressing harder against my cock. When I slide my finger back out, I rake it across her clitoris, then up her belly and in between her breasts, along her neck, and to her mouth. She groans and takes my whole finger into her mouth. My cock twitches as she sucks my finger. She feels it, of course, and turns to face me, releasing my finger as she turns. She grabs my hand, wraps it around my cock, her hand over it. Together, we slide my wet digit up and down my length. Fuck, she's killing me. She backs slowly toward the bed. I follow, of course, not wanting to break our contact.

"Please," she says, in a husky voice that would have aroused me further, were such a thing possible, "I can't wait any longer. I need you inside me."

I've dreamed of this moment. I press her back gently onto the bed. She reaches for me – but I am still not certain I want her to know who I am… yet. And my hair, my face – they will be dead giveaways. I need to keep her hands from my face. I catch her hand in mine, and with the other I grab her wand from her bedside table. Wordlessly, I conjure a restraint, tying her right hand to the bedpost. I pause, watching for her reaction. At first there is a moment of alarm, but it quickly disappears. With a smile, she offers me her left wrist, giving me permission. I bind it to the other post. Oh, sweet Merlin. She is utterly at my mercy. The bookworm of Gryffindor Tower is naked, tied to the bedposts, and underneath me, wrapping her legs around my hips and drawing me toward her.

* * *

**Part seven: Hermione**

I pull him closer with my legs. I've never been restrained like this, and it's exciting, though also horribly frustrating. I want to be able to touch him. But I know why he doesn't want me to do that. The frustration is part of the excitement. I want him so badly, but I am completely at his mercy.

His pelvis comes down on top of mine, his cock pressing into my belly. I feel the bed sink where he must be supporting himself on his arms as he brings his mouth to my left breast, kissing, sucking, and pulling on my nipple with his teeth. I groan, wanting more, much more. He treats my right breast the same delicious way, then kisses downward, his cock sliding down, brushing against my entrance, making me gasp in anticipation.

The weight on the bed shifts, and he is kneeling between my legs now, which are still wrapped around him. He grasps me at the knees, and peels my legs off of him, placing them gently on the bed. Now what? He is barely touching me, and I whimper for want of contact. Suddenly, I feel his hands, both of them, on my hipbones. They slide down, closer together, meeting in the middle in my now dripping folds, parting them, and then, oh god! His tongue! He licks and sucks, his nose – oh, his nose, that wonderful nose – brushing my clit.

"Oh, oh, yes," I moan, the syllables not mattering anymore. "Oh, gods, yes. Oh fuck, oh gods, please!" His hands join his mouth and it's heaven. How can I want more than heaven? But I do, oh, I do. I do want more. His fingers inside me just make me want his cock more. That thick length I had my hands on earlier, that I had my lips wrapped around last week… I want him – inside me, to the hilt, fucking me senseless until I can't speak. "Please, please, please," I chant. "Need you, now, need you, inside me, please, please…" I'm in near hysterics, practically sobbing. I need him inside me, but can't do anything more than beg, tied to the fucking bedpost like this.

His mouth leaves me, but the fingers remain. And then, oh god, I feel the blunt head of his cock at my entrance. He pauses, as if asking permission. What more permission could he possibly need?

"YES," I cry. It feels more like an order than permission.

Oh, and thank god, at last, at long last, he is pushing into me. I wrap my legs around his hips again, trying to hasten his progress, wanting all of him, right now. He still holds out on me, entering little by little: first just the head, and then a bit deeper on the next thrust, and then more, and then more, with me crying out each time, until finally, yes, finally, he is buried inside me. I thrust against him as he thrusts into me, and we find a punishing rhythm, pelvises crashing against each other, and it hurts, but I don't care, I want him, every inch, every millimeter, every micron of him. His sweat drips onto me, though I can't see him above me. I want so desperately to be able to sit up and lick it off of his chest, his neck, his face, but I'm stuck, straining against my ties, arching off the bed. I'm losing my mind. I feel the pressure building in my belly; I'm going to explode soon.

* * *

**Part eight: Severus**

Oh, god, she's so tight, so wet. She feels better than I had ever imagined she could. Her vaginal muscles are squeezing me, pulling me in. I'm being devoured by her. I'm pounding her with everything I've got and she's pounding back just as hard, bucking into me, crying out, wild with desire. I can't hold out much longer – my muscles tighten, and there's nothing I can do to hold back. I'm being drawn to the edge, to the precipice, and I want to take her over with me. I bend my head toward her, wrap my teeth and lips around a nipple, making her gasp. Yes, yes, yes, that is what I want. I slide my thumb in between our crashing pelvic bones and up against her clitoris, so that with each thrust, each time she bucks her hips and slides up my shaft just as I ram down into her, she gets added pressure just where she needs it. Her cries go up another octave. I'm so close. She's so close. The pressure builds in me, it's coming, I'm coming, I bite her neck as I give over completely to the moment, feeling her drop over the edge with me, her muscles pulsing around my cock as I spill into her.

* * *

**Part nine: Hermione**

Oh, ouch. I can barely walk this morning. When I woke, he was gone. Thank Merlin he had released me from my restraints shortly after we both came. THAT could've been hard to explain.

I limp into the Dining Hall for breakfast, and Severus is already there. Our eyes meet as I slowly approach, and gingerly take my seat. Damn, he's good. Not even a smirk, or a twinkle in the eyes.

"Are you quite all right, Hermione?" he asks, innocently.

"Never better, Severus," I tell him. I smile sweetly, and manage NOT to wink at him. Instead, I turn the tables.

"So, Severus… How was your birthday? Do anything interesting?"

YES! He blushes. I win.

* * *

_A/N: My most sincere apologies for taking SOOOOO long to update. I have good reasons, I promise._

_First, I was out of town for **Wrockstock 2008** for 4 days, and then recovering for a couple more. :D See this site for more information: **www dot stlouisareawizards dot com slash wrock slash about dot php**. It was one of the most incredible weekends of my life, and I encourage any of you who are interested in Wizard Rock in the slightest to look into going next time (October 2 – 5, 2009). We're going to take over the entire camp and turn it into Hogwarts. And the music is freakin' awesome._

_Second, I am currently enrolled in two online writing courses, so I've had assignments to do and all. It's going to slow up the fanfic writing a smidge, but hopefully will improve it as well. Who knows? Perhaps you'll even see improvement in this chapter? Do let me know how you liked it._


	12. Chapter 12: Something's Brewing

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the characters or setting – those belong to JK Rowling, to whom I am eternally grateful for creating the Potterverse. I'm just taking a couple of her characters out for a spin, but promise to return them, only slightly the worse for wear.

_A/N 1: This story is AU in that Severus Snape did not die. A rather brainy brunette saved him after Nagini's attack in DH. As much as is possible, I'll make this canon-compliant, though I'm ignoring the epilogue._

_A/N 2: Thanks to **Felena1971** for so many ideas and inspirations: she's my muse. Also to **Albe-Chan** – I used a choice bit of her vocabulary in this chapter, but attributed it to Fred & George._

_A/N 3: Special thanks also to those of my **Wrockstock** friends who wanted to read some of my stuff, and who plowed through many chapters in a short span of time. I'll try not to blush too much when I see you next in person, even though you now know the sick and twisted depths of my imagination…_

**C****hapter 12: Something's Brewing**

* * *

**Part one: Poppy**

Hermione walks into the hall for breakfast, looking as though she spent her holiday on horseback.

Severus is moving awkwardly, too, now that I think of it. He usually moves with a powerful grace, swooping in and out of the Dining Hall like a great black bird of prey. This morning, his entrance reminded me more of a penguin.

I steal another look at Hermione. Could it be?

But I see no knowing glances, no secretive smiles between the two of them.

Severus calls attention to her stiff gait: no guilty conscience, there.

Hermione is not flustered, and offers a friendly, offhand reply. If they are sexually involved, they are doing a good job of playing innocent. Is it entirely for my benefit?

"How was your birthday?" she asks him. "Do anything interesting?"

Merlin's beard – Severus is flushed! Suddenly, my initial suspicion looks more plausible. And Hermione has impressed me by cracking Severus's cool exterior. I've known him for over thirty years, and do not recall ever having seen him blush.

My weekly meeting with Severus is this afternoon. If he can convince me that they are still acting professionally during their research hours, I will overlook whatever else they might be doing in their free time. I have gotten very good at overlooking questionable behavior, so long as the consequences are not too grave. And given that they are both consenting adults, if her training is not compromised, I don't see that it's any business of mine if they have (as Fred and George Weasley used to say) hopped on the shaggin' wagon. I do miss those cheeky boys – no one since has been creative enough to measure up to their brand of mischief. I wonder if Severus is going to make a late run for the 'Bad Boy of Hogwarts' title by having a secret affair with a woman 20 years his junior. Is it wrong for me to hope that he will?

* * *

**Part two: Severus**

"I trust the rest of your Winter Holiday was a good one, Severus," Poppy says, handing me a steaming cup of Earl Gray. "Did you and Hermione get much done?"

I inhale the tea's aroma, and consider the question. The answer is, indisputably, "yes." However, I doubt she meant the question to be interpreted as broadly as I have taken it.

"Yes," I tell her.

"Tell me about it," she prompts.

I suppress a smirk, and answer the way I know I should. "We gathered materials for the Decursify Potion. We will brew it together tomorrow. And we have started some intensive research into the Cruciatus Curse."

Poppy leans forward, and places her teacup on the low table between us. "Do you really think you can do some good? We've tried everything, as you well know, with no significant improvement in the most profound cases. Do you think we have missed something?"

"Hermione and I discussed the problem at length, and I find her to have a unique perspective. She is well trained in magical healing, has a growing understanding of Dark arts, and learned much about Muggle healing from her parents. Her melding of these fields of knowledge has provided us with what I feel is a promising new angle."

She smiles at me, a look of almost motherly pride on her face. "Well done, Severus. It sounds like the two of you have established a working relationship that may have great benefits for the wizarding world." She retrieves her tea, and takes a sip, eyeing me over the rim with a mysterious twinkle. "You have nothing else to report, Severus?"

"Nothing," I tell her, and rise.

"Until next week, then," she says, and I depart for my dungeon sanctuary.

I will inform Hermione tonight at dinner that we will resume our work on the Decursify Potion. The lengthy brewing process will give us an opportunity to discuss her Cruciatus research. It will also give me an opportunity to conduct a bit of research of my own. Harry said Hermione has a theory about the identity of the Mystery Man, and my first attempt to find out what she knows – or thinks she knows – did not go as planned.

As I descend the main staircase, my head fills with the image of Hermione slipping out of her gown, and her seductive voice telling me she can't wait any longer. Does she realize that I am her invisible lover? Did she give herself willingly to me last night, or to a fantasy figure? Her question this morning unnerved me. _How was your birthday? Do anything interesting? _Why yes, my brain wanted to say, I tied you to your bedposts and pounded you into your mattress until you lost yourself in pleasure.

The Slytherin in me wants to reveal myself to her, because it seems a shame not to get credit for such scorching sex. But some other part of me – a part I am loath to identify – wants me to reveal myself for an entirely different reason. Though the sex was consensual – Merlin, she DID beg for it – it still somehow seems wrong that she does not know she was with me. Morally, ethically wrong. Why do I care? Am I a Slytherin, or am I not?

In the end, it does not matter why I care, only that I DO care. I will have to make certain she knows that I am the Mystery Man, or I will have to stop my nocturnal visits to her completely. Though neither option pleases me, I cannot continue this charade.

Of course, she may already know my secret. Much as it pains me to admit it, Hermione Granger's theories are rarely off the mark. That would explain her willingness to bed her unseen visitor mere minutes after having what appeared to be an erotic dream about me. Is she a good enough actress to have asked me such a question this morning, knowing full well how I spent my birthday? Damn her Occlumency shield. I must get her to drop it – momentarily, at least.

"Tomorrow," I say aloud, as I enter my empty chambers.

* * *

**Part three: Hermione**

Crookshanks watched me dress this morning with an expression I can only describe as… amusement. Today is the first day in over a week that I will be spending anything more than mealtimes with Severus. With a visible and audible Severus, that is – a Severus who admits to being Severus.

At least the jewelry was easy: I am wearing the necklace he gave me, and a pair of red garnet drop earrings to match. The rest took some time to select, but I am pleased with the results. My white v-neck jumper sets off the jewelry nicely. Jeans and trainers lend a casual air to the ensemble – I don't want to look as though I am trying too hard.

I had braided my hair into a simple plait, but it looked too juvenile. A French roll, I decided, was too overdone for lab work. Finally, I settled on a bun, held in place by a black lacquered pin. With a light application of my sheer pink lipstick, I was finally ready.

If Severus noticed my appearance at breakfast, he kept it to himself. I noticed his, of course – remarkable only for its consistency.

And now the long morning is over. Immediately after lunch, I will follow Severus to the dungeon to work with him again, for hours. Brewing a new potion with him is like taking a journey: we have a clear destination in mind, and Severus shows me the route, pointing out landmarks along the way, and sharing with me the travel tips that ensure my successful passage. I have missed our expeditions.

"Wish me luck, Crookshanks," I say, as I grab my wand and my Cruciatus notes, and hurry out the door toward the Dining Hall. What kind of luck I might need, I cannot say.

* * *

**Part four: Severus**

"I see you managed to gather ingredients of acceptable quality, despite your inattention in the greenhouse," I say. I summon the items we need from my storeroom, including the fresh items I'd put in stasis after her accident. Beautiful specimens of shrivelfigs – I wonder how long she spent selecting the best ones on the tree.

"Thank you, Severus," she says, as she ignites the fire under the cauldron. The flames are refracted in her earrings – she is adorned with fire.

The first three ingredients are as red as the pendant on the necklace I gave her, which dangles tantalizingly between the delicate collarbones I so recently traced with my tongue. Re'em blood, salamander blood, and pomegranate juice – all strengthening ingredients, as strength is essential for anyone fighting a Dark curse. She measures the powdered unicorn horn, and adds it, while I stir counterclockwise eleven times.

"I notice you are wearing the necklace given to you by your anonymous gift-giver," I say, intending to sound casual. "Is his identity still a mystery?"

She looks up from the cauldron, and chuckles softly. "Severus, I wear the necklace every day. You just haven't seen very much of me lately, so you wouldn't have noticed."

Au contraire. I have seen all of her – and not even 48 hours ago. I notice she ignored my question.

Steam rises from the cauldron. Sweat beads on my forehead. The tendrils of hair at the nape of her neck are damp.

"It is good that you wear it daily. One can never be too careful. If it detects Dark magic as you say, and you wear it faithfully, you should never have a need to consume the potion we brew today."

"That's true, Severus. It would have saved Katie Bell from the cursed necklace, and Professor Dumbledore from the cursed ring."

"Yes. This potion is useful in those instances where someone accidentally comes in contact with a cursed item. But as we discussed earlier, if a skilled potion maker can determine the exact nature of the curse involved, the potion can often be modified for even greater effectiveness. I was able to uncover more information about the necklace by questioning the staff at Borgin and Burke's, which did help St. Mungo's with Miss Bell's healing. But it was too late to effect an immediate recovery. Had I known within minutes of the attack, I could have healed her that same day."

I begin to peel the shrivelfigs, and give her the daisy roots to cut.

"Shrivelfigs and daisies are both used in the Shrinking Solution," she says, slicing them carefully. She expects to impress me with her astute observations, but any third year student should have recognized the connection between these two ingredients.

"Their function in this potion is to lessen the outcome of the curse – to shrink the curse's effect."

We measure carefully, and then add our ingredients – first the daisy, with seven clockwise stirs, and then the shrivelfigs, with seven counterclockwise stirs. Again, we let the mixture simmer.

"Legilimency has been most useful to me in creating antidotes to curses and poisons. If you are serious about your career in Dark Arts Damage Reversal, you will want to learn this skill."

She meets my eyes and I have the distinct impression that she is trying to read me. Just in case, I put up a shield. But there is no probe. She is employing only the Muggle method of reading someone's facial expression and body posture. I mastered those outward signs of emotion long ago.

"I can teach you, as part of your training program with me this year."

Her eyebrows rise, and a half-smile flits across her face. "That would be… most interesting, Severus. Thank you for the offer."

I pull my timepiece from my vest pocket, and pull the next ingredients toward us: the mandrake root and the hellebore. "We will need to add these in seventeen minutes. I will cut the hellebore. I thought you might like to dice the mandrake root yourself, since you went to so much trouble collecting it."

Her hand strays unconsciously to pat her thigh where the Venomous Tentacula attacked her. "Thank you, Severus. How thoughtful of you."

Our silver knives flash, reflecting the firelight, as we prepare the ingredients. "The trick to Legilimency, Hermione, is in emptying your mind. Most people think Legilimency requires great focus – that it would take a sharp mind to penetrate another's thoughts. In fact, a sharp focus will guarantee failure."

"So, you need to be open to whatever is in the other person's thoughts. If you are full of your own thoughts, emotions, preconceptions and expectations, you will have too much noise in your brain to hear what there is to hear. That makes perfect sense, Severus."

I stop slicing the hellebore, and stare at her. "That is exactly the reason, Hermione. The more you want information, the more anxious you are about what you might find in someone else's mind, the harder it will be for you to empty yourself enough to receive effectively. It is a paradoxical relationship – the more you want it, the less likely you are to get it."

"It reminds me of one of my favorite Zen Buddhist stories," she says. "The master pours so much tea into his student's teacup that it overflows. Still he keeps pouring, until the student cries out that no more tea will fit in the cup. The master says, 'Your mind is like the teacup – too full to take in anything else. Come back to me when your teacup is empty.'"

I shake my head in amazement. Hermione is not one I would ever have expected to see the value in emptying one's mind.

She has finished dicing the mandrake. My pocket watch says we still have eight minutes to go.

"Give it a try," I instruct her, "You will want to open your mind, make eye contact, and welcome whatever you find. As a beginner, you will need to use your wand. Point it at me to enhance the connection between us, and say 'Legilimens.'"

"Severus, I can't."

"You are usually overconfident in your abilities. Finally we have an instance in which I believe you have an instinctive grasp of a subject, and this is the time you decide to become modest?"

"It's not that, Severus. I do think I am capable of learning Legilimency. But you have probably told me too much already. It is illegal to teach Legilimency to someone without going through the proper procedure. I have not been approved to learn it."

"I know the rules quite thoroughly, thank you. Do you have any doubt that you would be approved? Hermione Granger – the war hero, who wants to learn Legilimency to improve her healing capabilities?"

"N-no. Of course, you're right. I would be approved. How long does it take to get the paperwork done, do you think?"

"I will owl the Ministry tomorrow to find out. In the interim, in full confidence that our request will not be denied, let us see what you can do."

"Do we have time?"

I check my watch again. "Three and a half minutes."

Her chocolate brown eyes gaze into mine. Before she can point her wand at me, I put up a shield. This is not how I want her to learn my secret.

"Legilimens," she says, and I feel a faint probing against my shield. A remarkable first effort.

"Not bad for a beginner," I tell her. "You may try again after adding the hellebore and mandrake. We now have only… two minutes."

"I could feel something," she says. "The beginning of a connection, but it was as if I ran into a brick wall."

"Did you not walk through a brick wall at King's Cross Station for years? A brick wall is a barrier only if you let it become one." I hold my bowl of prepared leaves and stems near the rim of the steaming cauldron. "Now, prepare to add the mandrake at the same moment I add the hellebore."

She raises her bowl of mandrake roots, mirroring me.

I watch the seconds tick down. "Once we add these, you will need to stir clockwise for one minute. I will tell you when to stop. Are you ready to add the mandrake?"

She nods, and grabs her ladle with her other hand.

"Three, two, one. Now." We both dump our bowls, and she begins to stir. She leans over the cauldron, her right arm moving with a steady cadence.

"How much longer, Severus?" Her face is flushed from the heat.

"Fifteen seconds." The potion lightens from dark red to a pale shimmering pink as she stirs. "Five, four, three… and stop."

She wipes the sweat from her forehead and the back of her neck with the sleeve of her jumper. Sweat is pooled in the hollow at the base of her throat.

"Now what?"

"The wormwood – and then it needs to sit for three hours before the final ingredient is added." I give her the mortar and pestle, and place the wormwood bark in the bowl.

Though she has just done the hot work of stirring the cauldron, she does not hesitate. Her fingers wrap around my pestle, and with a practiced wrist, she grinds the bark into a fine dust.

"That will do," I tell her, and I measure in the precise amount we need. The potion bubbles and froths. I stir it thirteen times, clockwise, and – finally – we can rest.

"Three hours?"

"Yes – after dinner, we will come back to the lab for the final step in the brewing process. Dinner will be served in fifteen minutes. Are you ready to try Legilimency again, or has a brick wall defeated you?"

She smiles. "I'll have another go at it, Severus." She draws her wand again, and points it at me. "Legilimens."

Again, the dark pools of her eyes meet mine, and I feel a gentle probe, but I am an accomplished Occlumens. If the Dark Lord never got past my shield, I have no concerns that Hermione, on her second attempt, will learn anything I don't want her to know. She frowns slightly.

"You thought you would master it in one afternoon? This is the presumptuousness I have come to expect from you. If you have reached your limit, I will now show you how it is done."

Once more, she cocks an eyebrow, looking mildly amused. "Certainly, Severus," she says. "A demonstration sounds very helpful."

I no longer need the wand or the spoken incantation when probing an unsuspecting mind. But using them will be a better demonstration for Hermione, and will also get me past the amateur shield she has been keeping up lately – thus allowing me access to her theories about the Mystery Man. Our eyes meet again, and this time it is my wand that rises to chest level, my voice that says, "Legilimens." But I make no more progress with her than she made with me: her shield holds.

I drop my wand, and she smirks at me. "Thank you, Severus. I see now how it is done."

"Sarcasm does not become you, Hermione. Nor does secrecy. Who has taught you the art of Occlumency?"

"Her name, Severus, is Hermione Granger. Can't we discuss this on the way to the dining hall? I'm starving!"

"Taught yourself, did you? Further evidence that you are indeed brighter than The Boy Who Cannot Close His Mind - though that is not saying much. Harry was unable to learn Occlumency at all, even with me teaching him."

"No offense, Severus, but I think Harry was unable to learn Occlumency at all BECAUSE you were teaching him. It's not really that hard."

"It is difficult for most people, Hermione, otherwise it would be a much more common skill. That you were able to teach yourself Occlumency, from a book, I assume, gives me some hope that you will eventually manage to learn Legilimency, and that my efforts to teach you will not be wasted." I hold the door open for her, and we move into the coolness of the dungeon corridor, headed for the stairs.

"I have a feeling, Severus, that Legilimency isn't all that hard, either. You put up a shield both times I tried to penetrate your mind. 'A brick wall is only a barrier if you let it become one,' indeed! Your brick wall kept out Voldemort, and you expect me to get through it on my first day?"

"No, I expected you to fail. But one can learn much from failure."

"Why block me, Severus? Surely not merely as some twisted teaching tool."

"Insolent witch! Are you suggesting that I am hiding something?"

"I am suggesting that I will have difficulty mastering the skill," she retorts, "if my lab partner is uncooperative."

"Perhaps you could find a more cooperative subject during dinner."

"How could I do that?"

"Watch for an opportunity. If any student should meet your eye, aim your wand from under the staff table, and whisper the incantation."

"So now, not only are you suggesting I learn Legilimency without proper authorization, but that I perform it on unsuspecting students?" She gives me a wicked smile.

"Precisely."

We enter the Dining Hall, and she looks around excitedly at the students' faces as we walk together to the staff table.

She leans closer to me, and whispers, "But Severus, is that ethical?"

I lower my mouth and purr into the exposed shell of her ear, "Do you want to learn it, or not? Ethics are a luxury. You would let them get in the way of treating the wounded?"

"Ah, Severus," she giggles as we take our seats, "I'm learning so much from you."

* * *

**Part five: Geoffrey**

At last! Here she comes, walking in with Professor Snape, almost ten minutes late. He must be making her work awfully hard on their joint project. Perhaps she could use a break? An after-dinner stroll with me would be a pleasant diversion.

Wait: she and Professor Snape are sitting only inches apart, and she is laughing – at his jokes? Does Professor Snape tell jokes?

Are they…? No, they can't be together. The conspiratorial look they share must be related to their work.

She looks slowly around the room, and I grin at her. Yes – she locks her gaze with mine. She cannot tear her eyes away from me. Clearly, she prefers me to him. Her lips form words I cannot quite make out at this distance, but the intent is clear. She wants to be with me.

I rise, and take two steps toward the staff table, the invitation already forming on my lips. But she shakes her head, discouraging me, and looks away, not quite hiding her smile. Of course. She still feels it would be improper to be seen with a student. I will have to find another – less public – opportunity to speak with her.

* * *

**Part six: Hermione**

"Tell me," he says, as we push open the laboratory door.

"My god, Severus – that was exhilarating!" This Legilimency stuff could quickly become addictive. I can see how easily it could be abused, and why the Ministry keeps track of those who master it.

I sit at the closest lab table, and he joins me, smirking broadly. "Crawford doesn't count," he says. "He was practically broadcasting his feelings and intentions."

My laughter echoes off the cold dungeon walls. "That's true. But did you know that he suspects you and I might be a couple? And that he believes he could steal me from you with his youth and charm?"

"Such impudence! What else did you learn?"

"Neville is considering proposing to Hannah."

"How pathetic. He falls arse over teakettle for the first girl to pay him any attention."

"I agree that it's too early. Hannah is his first girlfriend. I like her, but I think Neville ought to date a bit more before settling down."

"And will you be next in line to date the witless wonder?"

"Severus! Don't be ridiculous." I wink, and tease, "I won't let Neville come between us any more than I will let Crawford do it."

"What a relief," he drawls, rolling his eyes. "Anything else?"

"Nothing else that concrete."

"You got some other, more vague impressions from someone?"

I nod. "Poppy." I can feel my face getting hot.

"Poppy! That was foolish, as these are, as you pointed out, unauthorized lessons. How did you attempt it from such close range, without her knowing what you were doing?"

"As you and I stood to leave together, she looked up and met my eyes. My hand was already in my robe pocket, and I pointed my wand her direction. I did not say the incantation aloud. I've been practicing silent magic since sixth year."

"At least one of 'The Golden Trio' was able to perform magic without speaking," he says, his voice dripping sarcasm at the name bestowed upon Harry, Ron and me by the press. "By the end of your sixth year, Harry was still shackled to using his voice to cast spells. I told him again and again he needed to transcend that limitation."

"He's got it perfected, now," I say, in Harry's defense.

"I should hope so," Severus sighs. "So what senility-muddled impressions did you get from Poppy?"

"She… She seemed convinced that you and I are…" I swallow, take a deep breath, and blurt it out: "Sleeping together."

His jaw drops, but he quickly recovers, with a skeptically raised eyebrow.

"But… I think she approves."

"I have no idea what would have put such a depraved thought into her head," he says, rising from the table, and moving toward our cauldron of Decursify Potion. "I have not given her any cause to doubt the integrity of your training with me."

I join him at the cauldron. Our potion has matured into a bright orange color, and still has over an hour before we add the final ingredient.

He turns toward me when I place my hand gently on his shoulder. "I know you wouldn't, Severus. And again, I don't think we have a problem. Though I felt some conflict in her, the strongest sense I got was that she was happy for us. She won't make any trouble unless she starts to feel we aren't working well together."

"Happy for us," he sneers, "Doesn't that seem a bit premature?"

Not really, lover boy. I close my eyes, recall the feel of him between my legs, and wish for a repeat performance – and soon – but, ideally, with Severus-as-himself. I am encouraged by his protest that Poppy's happiness is merely premature, rather than completely misplaced. Maybe my wish isn't too farfetched.

"Mmmm," I say, noncommittally.

We stare in silence at the potion.

Finally, he asks, "Why do you think you got only impressions from Poppy, but such clear intentions from the others? Failure, as I suggested earlier, can be a useful teacher."

"I was quick and sloppy. I hadn't intended to try Legilimency with Poppy, but took the opportunity when it presented itself. I was unprepared – I had not fully emptied my mind."

"The correct answer, as always. You were quick and sloppy with that attempt."

"Thank you, Severus. It doesn't bother you, now, my having the correct answer?"

He looks up from the cauldron at last. "That was never the issue. The problem was your rude behavior in my class."

"I didn't say so at Halloween, Severus, because it was such a shock to hear your explanation, but I'm sorry. I never intended to detract from anyone else's learning. Had you explained it to me years ago, things could have been very different between us. Look how well we work together, now."

"It would have been inappropriate for us to work this well together when you were a student. A teacher cannot play favorites."

"Severus," I chuckle, "you are such a smooth talker. That was an outright lie, of course, as you clearly favored your own house. But it was still a compliment, and I will accept it. I enjoy working with you, too. Our time together is my favorite part of any day."

"How perverse of you, Hermione," he says. "Your favorite part of any day is time you spend talking about Dark magic with a former Death Eater?"

I grin. "Absolutely."

He shakes his head, and chuckles so softly I almost can't hear it.

"Speaking of Dark magic," I say, "aren't you going to ask about my Cruciatus research?"

"I had not thought it necessary to ask, as you have never been able to resist sharing what you know with anyone who will listen. We have almost an hour before the potion needs our attention again. What can you tell me?"

I pull my research notes from my bag, and spread them out on the table in front of us.

"Look at this part, Severus. A lot of the damage, I believe, is psychological – the fear of the pain and the memory of the pain leave lasting psychological scars. Physically, the main damage is to the nervous system. Though the muscles contract so hard during an attack that bones can break, that damage is easily fixed. Nerve damage, however, is much harder to repair. The nerves are stressed to the point where the central nervous system, to protect itself, practically shuts down. The victim will, after a particularly vicious attack, cease to feel pain, either physical or mental. But in the process, all but the most basic functioning is lost."

He pores over the notes, frowning with concentration.

"I have some thoughts about how we might proceed," I say.

"Not yet," he says, waving me off. "You are rushing to conclusions: shoddy research procedure. I will not be party to it."

"Take your time," I answer, and move away, so as not to distract him.

I walk the perimeter of the room, examining all the jars of pickled animal parts, and other artifacts that grace the shelves that run the length of his lab.

"Your notes here are unclear – you mention something about serotonin."

"Serotonin is a neurotransmitter that affects mood, sleep, sex drive, body temperature, metabolism, and more. In Muggle terms, I think extended exposure to Cruciatus can almost entirely shut down the body's production of neurotransmitters. There are Muggle medications that work to restore them, but I trust we can create the same effects from some of our standard potions, such as the Calming Draught, the Draught of Peace, and the Elixir to Induce Euphoria. Many of the ingredients in those potions are known to alter levels of various brain chemicals. Armed with this knowledge, I believe we can design a potion that will restore a lot of function."

"Interesting," he says, returning to my notes with a renewed vigor.

"What's really interesting, Severus, is that chocolate contains many chemicals known to affect neurotransmitters. Chocolate increases serotonin, endorphins – which lessen pain and decrease stress, and phenylethylamine – which increases excitement and alertness…"

He chuckles again. "Are you still trying to get me to eat chocolate, Hermione? You are relentless."

"Pardon me, Severus," I laugh. "I forgot. You 'don't do sweet.' No, actually, I was merely suggesting that we might consider including chocolate as an ingredient in whatever we brew up as a potential cure for Cruciatus damage. The chemical effects of chocolate are very much in line with our goals. But it would need to be strengthened – enhanced – by other ingredients. I am not so naïve as to think that giving a box of Chocolate Cauldrons to the Longbottoms would instantly cure them."

I return to poking around the lab and let him continue his reading.

"Oh!" I stop in my tracks. I must have meandered too close to something Dark, as my pendant just turned to ice against my skin.

"What is it?" Severus leaps to his feet, scattering pages of my research all over the floor.

"Don't worry, Severus." I've located the problem, I believe. "I walked too close to the Hand of Glory, I think – my pendant just went ice-cold."

His wand still drawn, he approaches. He examines everything within a ten-foot radius of me, and then relaxes. "Yes, that must be it. The necklace does work then – it caught your attention quite effectively."

"It did. Severus, what are you doing with this thing in your possession?"

"It used to belong to Draco Malfoy. He used it on the night that I… that I left Hogwarts. I keep it as a reminder."

"A reminder," I echo him softly. "Severus, why?"

"So I will not forget what the war cost me. I have tried for years to forgive myself – I had no choice but to do what I did: for Draco, for Albus, and even for Harry. But I do not ever want to forget the depths to which the Dark Lord pushed me. If I always remember that such evil can exist, I will always be on guard against it."

The agony in his eyes cuts through me. He flinches when I reach for his face, but I stroke his cheek gently. "Thank you, Severus," I whisper. "I understand why you keep it, now." I drop my hand, and my eyes. "I'm sorry to pull you away from your reading. I'll let you get back to it."

"No need," he says, and the moment of vulnerability is gone. "It is almost time for the final step of brewing the Decursify Potion." He consults his pocket watch. "Yes. We only have twelve minutes, and we still need to juice the berries."

"Berries?" This is the first time I have ever used berries in a potion. Beetle eyes, rat spleens: sure. But not berries – that sounds far too… normal.

"Holly berries. Holly is a powerful protector."

"Wow," I say, sitting down again.

"Pardon?"

"Holly is a powerful protector."

"Yes, Hermione. I just said that."

"And the wand chooses the wizard."

"Yes, Hermione. Are you regressing to your first year?"

"Harry's wand was made of holly. And if a wizard ever needed protection, it was Harry."

Severus has apparently given up on me, and started to juice the holly berries without me. That is fine – I am really too dazed by the implications of Harry's holly-and-phoenix-feather wand choosing him to be much help at present. I watch him, absently, as he presses the plump red berries and extracts the liquid. Furtively, he checks on me, out of the corner of his eye.

"Enough daydreaming, Hermione. The holly juice is ready, and we need to add it in three minutes."

His voice shakes me out of my reverie, and I nod, joining him at the cauldron. He hands me the juice and holds out his timepiece. I wait.

"Now," he says.

I pour. He stirs.

We watch as the potion slowly turns to the color I saw in the pensieve. Gold as galleons. Gold as the ink will be in my journal tonight when I write about learning Legilimency, making progress on a cure for Cruciatus damage, and brewing potions again with Severus.

* * *

_A/N: Important note regarding Wrockstock 09 – the dates I gave you at the end of chapter 11 have changed. It's now Nov 6 – 9. And it will still be awesome._

_Thanks again for your patience on this update. Summer vacation – including several days with limited Internet access. And this chapter was just plain hard to write – I'm not sure why. I've got outlines of three more chapters, and I think that will be the end… 15 total, probably. We'll get back to more juiciness in Chapter 13. I really hope you haven't forgotten about this story in the LOOOOONG break between chapters!_


	13. Chapter 13: Names

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the characters or setting – those belong to JK Rowling, to whom I am eternally grateful for creating the Potterverse. I'm just taking a couple of her characters out for a spin, but promise to return them, only slightly the worse for wear.

_A/N 1: This story is AU in that Severus Snape did not die. A rather brainy brunette saved him after Nagini's attack in DH. As much as is possible, I'll make this canon-compliant, though I'm ignoring the epilogue._

_A/N 2: Special thanks to co-author and beta-reader **Felena1971**, who got into a weird place during a brainstorming session the other night and started channeling Hermione. She (Felena, that is) is responsible for a large amount of awesomeness in this chapter. Well, actually, in this whole story._

**Chapter 13: Names**

* * *

**Part one: Hermione**

"Go to bed, Hermione."

"I don't need to go to bed," I tell him. "We're making progress. Let's keep going."

"We have been working on this potion every evening this week, and you are starting to show signs of exhaustion. We are done for the night. Go."

He is ordering me around, but I'm not some little girl he can intimidate anymore. Why won't he listen to me? Doesn't he see how far we've come? How much more we can accomplish if we just keep going?

"Come on, Severus. This is important work we're doing. Don't you have a potion you can give me to help my energy level?"

"I will do no such thing. You need sleep. Hard as it may be for you to believe, the world will not stop spinning on its axis just because you take a few days off from working on a Cruciatus cure."

"A few days? No! We can work on it this weekend, too, can't we?" I probably do need sleep, if the hysteria in my voice is any indicator. But I can almost feel the breakthrough – it seems so close. All we have to do is keep working just a bit longer until we reach it.

"I thought you were attending an event at the Burrow tomorrow. And you need the break."

"I do not need the break! And I've decided not to go to the Naming Ceremony anyway. I'd rather be here, working with you." Easy decision – work with Severus and get closer to a cure for damage caused by the Cruciatus Curse, or go to the Burrow to be surrounded by people who probably hate me. I haven't seen any of the Weasleys in over a month now. I don't see why Fleur's having another baby should make me change that.

He shakes his head at me. "Typical Gryffindor: unwilling to admit to anything that might be mistaken for weakness. It is not weak to go to bed when one is exhausted, Hermione."

"After all this time, Severus, you still don't understand me, do you?" He doesn't see it at all! How can he not see? "This has nothing to do with strength – I know I'm not invincible. The Cruciatus Curse doesn't care how strong you are. It makes everyone weak. No, this is about what that horrible, evil woman did to Neville's parents… and to me."

"You cannot help them if you are too tired to function, Hermione." He is still scolding me, but his tone is gentler. "And you cannot erase the experience of being tortured by Bellatrix by finding a cure for severe Cruciatus damage."

"Is that why you think I am doing this?" I was lucky to escape with my mental health relatively intact, but I know I will always have a dark space inside me from that day. "Severus, I know I can't erase it. I know that I was changed that day. I am not damaged like the Longbottoms, thank Merlin, but I lost something of myself that cannot be regained. My heart was hardened; I am more cynical about human nature than I used to be, less trusting. I'm afraid I don't see a way to change that. But I can redeem that loss – make it worth something – if I can use my intimate knowledge of torture to help others."

My throat is constricted. I miss my innocence. I long for my old naiveté, for the days when I had complete faith in humankind.

Severus pulls out a stool for me, and I sink onto it. At least he is not ordering me out the door anymore. But he is speechless in the face of my outburst.

"It kills me to think of Neville's parents wasting away for so many years. I saw them once, did you know?"

He shakes his head, watching me carefully.

"We were visiting Arthur, after he was attacked by Voldemort's snake…." Oh, god. I shouldn't have mentioned that. As much as I was changed by Bellatrix's Cruciatus attack, it's nothing to what he suffered when Nagini nearly killed him. We are both so damaged. Buried mines are scattered throughout our conversational landscape. I rush on with my story, hoping to pull his mind away from that fateful day. "And we saw Lockhart in the long-term care ward. His nurse thought we'd come to visit him, and dragged us inside. We ran into Neville and his Gran on their way out from visiting Frank and Alice. They didn't even know Neville. Their own flesh and blood… their own son was a stranger to them."

At least what I did to my own parents was temporary, and they were still functional human beings. I swipe at my eyes, and shake away thoughts of Mum and Dad. This isn't about them.

"Because of Bellatrix, Neville has no memory of his parents as anything other than potted plants. Even if we can't repair the damage completely, if we can improve their condition...even just a little… How do a few lost hours of sleep compare to the decades Neville has lost with his parents?"

I search his face for a sign, anything that might tell me we can continue our work. He is silent, lost in his thoughts. I wish I had my time turner so I could go back and stop myself from ever mentioning Nagini.

When he looks up at me, his expression is somber. "I have an idea. A way you can use your experiences to help our research."

"What is it?" I shudder. This is what I said I wanted, but I am suddenly fearful.

"If you would be willing, we could put your memory of Bellatrix's attack into the pensieve. We could both enter your memory, as we entered my memories earlier, and observe the assault, watching for clues to the specific kinds of damage inflicted as it happens – signs that different parts of the nervous system are shutting down, and in what order. I believe it could help us produce a more effective potion on our first try, potentially saving us weeks of trial and error. You might, of course, elect not to replace the memory, once it is removed. You would still remember that it had happened, but the details would be unavailable to you without using the pensieve."

"I don't know, Severus. I do want to help. But I am not sure I can bear to enter that memory. Could I give it to you, and you enter it on your own?"

"Our work together on this project would be more effective if we went in together. Entering a memory in the pensieve is not the same as reliving the event first-hand. You watch at a remove. It is almost as if you are watching something that happened to someone else. I feel certain it will still be an intense experience for you, but you will not feel the pain or the fear as you did when she was actually torturing you. And I will be with you."

My heart pounds as I slowly nod my acquiescence. The prospect terrifies me. I have kept that memory locked away as securely as possible, and now I will be pulling it out, and diving in. I would never agree to do this without Severus by my side.

* * *

**Part two: Severus**

"Where did you get this sword? Tell me!" Bellatrix is screaming and looks even more psychotic than usual. I was repulsed by her, even before I became a spy for Albus and the Order. She had no self-respect, always groveling at the Dark Lord's hem for crumbs of his attention. "Crucio!" she screeches.

Hermione cries out and doubles over in pain, falling to her knees, but remaining upright. Weasley's voice bellows from below, "HERMIONE! HERMIONE!"

The present-day Hermione clutches my arm, averts her eyes from the scene. I feel her quake with terror.

"Try to be objective," I remind her gently. "We are watching for specific details of how the body and mind are affected by the Cruciatus Curse." She gulps and nods, and glances cautiously back at her former self.

"We found it," says the Hermione of the past. "PLEASE!" Her small frame wrenches in agony as she is hit with another curse.

"At this point, the victim still has both verbal and motor functions," I say, as much for my own sake as hers. I force myself to watch, though I can hardly bear it.

"Yes," she whimpers, "the victim is still thinking clearly."

"You have been inside my vault at Gringotts," shrieks Bellatrix, her eyes wild. "Tell the truth!" She curses Hermione again, who screams, twisting in pain. She collapses but still has the wherewithal to tell her torturer that the sword is a copy.

"The victim still has mental and verbal control, but has lost motor control," I say, and my voice is strangled in my throat. The stress of witnessing this event is too much for Hermione. Tears run freely down her face, and her fingernails dig into my arm. I welcome the pain, and wish that somehow it could lessen her agony to have me bear some of the pain for her. I want to rescue her, but I cannot. I feel as helpless and frantic as Weasley sounds, still crying her name every time she screams.

We watch as Draco, my former protégé, collects the goblin from the basement. What a disappointment Draco turned out to be: too weak and fearful to reach his potential.

Moments later, a loud crack issues from below. I know the story well enough to know that Dobby the house-elf has just Disapparated with Miss Lovegood, Mr. Thomas, and Ollivander the wand-maker. Pettigrew is sent to investigate, and I know it will mean the end of him. I am not sorry. He was a despicable, miserable excuse for a human being, better suited to his rat animagus form. When I told the Dark Lord what I had heard of the prophecy, I did not know it would mean the death of Lily, or her family. I tried to save her, and in the end I begged Albus to save them all. And they might have been saved, were it not for Pettigrew. Pettigrew, the rat, who betrayed his so-called friends, knowing full well he was ensuring their demise. I am by no means innocent. But compared to Pettigrew, I am a saint.

For a few moments, the torture stops, as Bellatrix is distracted by more pressing matters. From our vantage point, Hermione and I can see Harry and his trusty sidekick creep into the room, but the sadistic witch does not see them. Her attention is focused on the goblin, who proclaims the sword a fake. Harry must have coached him. It is difficult to imagine why the goblin would help a wizard, any wizard. But then, Harry has never been "any wizard."

Her face lit with maniacal glee, Bellatrix touches the mark on her forearm to summon the Dark Lord. Then she gestures to Hermione, crumpled at her feet and only barely conscious. The memory darkens progressively, as if dusk is falling in the room.

"Greyback, take her if you want her," Bellatrix says, and Weasley bursts into the room with a primal cry. He disarms Bellatrix, and a brief duel ensues, but stops abruptly when the crazed witch cries, "Stop or she dies!" She has dragged Hermione upright, and threatens to cut her throat. She presses the knife so brutally into Hermione's neck that blood seeps out around the silver blade. A murderous rage seizes me. I could kill Bellatrix, were she not already dead.

Hermione turns to me, hiding her face in my chest, unable to watch any longer. Instinctively, my arms wrap across her thin back, as if I could shield her from the horror of what we have seen.

The memory is fading; everything is getting darker. We hear Bellatrix's voice again, but cannot make out the words; she sounds like she is underwater. As the scene closes to black, we hear a muffled crash, indicating that Dobby the house elf has dropped the chandelier.

I find myself back in my office, with Hermione buried in my chest, sobbing. "Shhhhh," I murmur. "She can't hurt you anymore. It's just a memory." I stroke her back, hoping to calm her. I should not have insisted that she come with me into the pensieve. Not when she was already so tired, her emotions already running so high. "Shhhh. It's over. We're back at Hogwarts."

She lifts her head to look around, in wonder, at my office. For a moment she seems confused to find herself in my arms, and she turns her face up to me, questioning. The sobs have stopped, but not the tears. I lift my hands to the sides of her face, and brush the tears from her eyes with my thumbs. She closes her eyes, and sighs deeply, her pink lips parted. My hands still cup her face. I bend toward her, unthinking, knowing only that I want to protect her, and place my lips softly upon hers. "You're safe now," I whisper against her mouth.

She whispers my name, and entwines her fingers in my hair, gently pulling me closer, and deepening the kiss. "Severus," she breathes into me. "Severus."

Slowly, we explore each other's mouths, and it feels just as right, just as powerful as it did in Hogsmeade. Yet this kiss is entirely different: a gentle and languid kiss, rather than a fierce and devouring one.

My head reels with a bewildering combination of tenderness and guilt. Silver images crowd my mind's eye. When I write to her, the magical ink turns silver. I have tried to fight it, but I am losing the battle. These feelings I have for her… they must be love. She presses into me, claiming me. Does she feel the same? If I do love her, if I truly love her, then I must not let her fall in love with me. She has suffered enough at the hands of my old comrades; she must not now suffer because of me. My love could only hurt her – it is not the silver of bells, or of moonlight on water, but the silver of a sharp knife at her throat.

I am wrong for her. No matter how right it feels to kiss her, to crush her to me, to stroke her hair, to murmur her name, it is wrong. She deserves so much more than I can give her. I have too much darkness in me. She needs someone younger. Happier. Whole. Someone with an untarnished soul, who can restore her faith in humanity. I need to gently extricate myself from her arms, and then from her life. When our work together is over at the end of term, we will not need to see each other anymore. She can move on, find love and happiness with someone else, and I can… try to forget.

Gathering all my strength, I pull back from her. "This is wrong," I tell her. "You should go. You should have gone an hour ago when I first tried to send you off."

Fresh tears sparkle in her eyes – I have hurt her already.

"Severus, I…" She is at a loss for words, a rare occurrence. She looks around my office, as if she might find her lost words on my bookshelf or filing cabinet. "I- I don't want to go."

"Might I suggest," I say, stepping away from her and pulling a small phial from my stores, "a Dreamless Sleep potion?"

She takes it from me, silently, recognizing dismissal when she sees it. I understand that I am being unfair. I initiated the kiss – again – and then told her it was wrong. I must seem capricious to her, but in fact nothing has changed. My impulse to protect her is just as strong as it was before, only now I realize I must protect her from myself, as well.

At the doorway, she turns around, and walks purposefully back toward me. She will not take "no" for an answer! "What is it now, Hermione?" It comes out sounding testier than I had meant it to sound.

"I'd like my memory back."

"For what possible reason? Do you not think you will be happier without it?"

"For the same reason you keep the Hand of Glory, Severus. It reminds me of the true costs of war. And, like it or not, it is a part of me. I refuse to clip off the parts of my life that are unseemly."

I retrieve her memory with my wand, and touch it to her temple. She winces as it retakes its place.

"Thank you," she says, and stands on her tiptoes to kiss me gently on the mouth. A moment later, she is gone.

Perhaps the Sorting Hat was right about her after all.

* * *

**Part three: Hermione**

My hand stops in the air, inches from the front door of the Burrow. Can I really go through with this?

Watching my own memory in the pensieve last night with Severus was horrible, yet… informative. At the time I was actually being tortured, naturally, I was unable to take in much that was going on around me. Seeing it from this new perspective, though, allowed me to hear Ron's wild cries from the basement, to see his abject terror when Bellatrix offered me to Greyback, and to watch his mad rush into the room as he disarmed her. When I think of how much we have been through together, how much we have cared for each other through the years, I know that our current estrangement cannot continue. I need him in my life. Just not as my lover or my husband. I don't know if Ron will accept those terms, but I have to try.

Severus raised his eyebrows when I told him at breakfast that I'd decided to go to the Burrow after all. But all he asked me was, "Did you sleep well?"

I had slept well, of course, thanks to his potion. But it was a difficult morning nonetheless. The prospect of coming here and facing the Weasleys, combined with Severus's refusal to allow himself to enjoy his life, had me feeling downhearted. Why is it that the man who can make my toes curl with his kisses has to act like kissing me is a crime?

I draw back my hand to knock at the door, when suddenly, it flies open, and George is standing there smiling at me, pulling me into a bear-hug. "Hermione! You came!"

He releases me, and Angelina hugs me as well, but not as tightly as usual. That's okay – I expected my welcome would be less than warm.

My face must have reflected my disappointment, because George whispers in my ear, "Don't mind her, she just doesn't want to squish her bump."

"Her bump?" I gasp, and grab them both by a hand. "You- you're pregnant? Oh, I'm so happy for you both!" Her "bump" is not yet visible, but Angelina is radiant.

"Yup," grins George, "I pumped her cauldron full of hot, strong love."

"George!" She hits him, and I laugh. Thank Merlin at least I feel normal with these two.

"Come on inside, Hermione," says Angelina. "You can sit by me."

I kiss her cheek, as I cannot possibly find words to express my gratitude.

The Burrow reminds me forcibly of Umbridge's office, though I'm positive that's not the intended effect. Pink decorations cover the walls, the ceiling, and most of the furniture.

"Shall I assume Fleur and Bill's baby is a girl?"

Angelina giggles madly. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

On the mantel, I notice five rather ugly, squat-looking baby figurines. Upon closer inspection, I realize they are immobilized garden gnomes, wearing pink nappies, and with pacifiers stuffed into their mouths. Their knitted eyebrows and scowling faces betray their indignation.

I point at them, and ask Angelina, "George?"

"Who else?"

I look back over my shoulder at George, who is following us into the sitting room. He shrugs helplessly. I suppose it is his duty to keep up the pranks, though I hate that the gnomes suffer as a result. I silently vow to set them free when no one is watching.

In the sitting room, Fleur is holding court. She sits in the middle of the room, surrounded by gifts. Bill stands behind her, holding a small bundle of pink that must be his new daughter. Victoire bounces on Arthur's knee. The entire family is present: all of the Weasleys and their spouses, Gabrielle, and Madame and Monsieur Delacour. I am the only person present who is not related to the baby by either blood or marriage. It is an honor to be included, and I feel my heart swell with gratitude to Fleur and Bill for inviting me, under the circumstances. I add my small package to the pile: a baby blanket, with matching cap and booties. I've enjoyed knitting since I taught myself fifth year.

Fleur looks up at my arrival, and exclaims, "Ah, 'Ermione! Trés bien! Now we only lack Kingsley to complete our party!"

"Then let the party begin," says a deep, reassuring voice from behind me. I turn to see Kingsley striding in from the front hall. He gives me a wink – riding a thestral through a Death-Eater attack tends to bring people closer together. I feel safer, somehow, just having him here.

From across the room, Ron meets my eyes. Should I take the opportunity? Well, why not? It might help me put things right if I know exactly what he is thinking. I reach into my pocket, and point my wand surreptitiously at him, and say the word to myself. All I get is a sense of longing. But is he longing to talk to me, to repair our friendship, or to renew our relationship? My "teacup" is too full to get much out of Ron right now. I am caught in the paradox Severus described. I need to detach myself from the situation in order to be open to whatever I will find in Ron, or I won't find anything much. I'm not certain that's possible at the moment. I will have to rely on Muggle methods of reading people, and improvise as I go.

He smiles at me, a tentative smile, and whispers something to Harry, who is seated with Ginny on the couch. Harry nods, pats Ron warmly on the shoulder as he passes, and shrugs at me. I wave. Ginny looks away.

Ron is slowly working his way through the crowded room, headed toward me. This is why I have come, I remind myself. I will do whatever it takes to start the process of rebuilding our friendship, even if it means I have to apologize first, take blame, or face his anger.

"He misses you. Just talk to him," whispers Angelina. I squeeze her hand.

Ron reaches me, and mutters a quiet greeting. I feel like an awkward twelve year-old around him again, unsure if I should hug him, or shake his hand. I settle for squeezing his shoulder and whispering hello.

Molly watches us carefully, but rises and addresses the crowd. "Thank you all for coming today, especially Kingsley, for taking time from your duties as Minister of Magic to join us for this special occasion."

"I wouldn't miss it, Molly," he rumbles. His broad shoulders fill up the doorway.

A bottle of champagne floats in from the kitchen, and begins pouring itself into a series of glasses that file past it, then disperse through the crowd. When one comes my way, I pull it from the air, and hold it expectantly. Victoire's Naming Ceremony was the first I had ever attended, and I made the mistake of sipping the champagne before it was time – an enormous social faux pas at this kind of event. Ron actually had to apologize to everyone for my behavior. Now I know better. Ron catches my eye and smiles – I wonder if he is remembering the same thing.

"Molly and I, as well as Madame and Monsieur Delacour, are thrilled to welcome our second grandchild, Bill and Fleur's daughter, and Victoire's little sister," says Arthur, beginning the ritual.

We all raise our glasses, and chant together, "What will be her name?"

Bill holds the baby in front of him, for everyone to see. "Her name is Dominique Gabrielle Weasley." Gabrielle beams proudly at her new namesake.

"Welcome, Dominique Gabrielle Weasley," we chant in unison, and we all drink our champagne. The empty glasses disappear on cue.

"Do you all promise to love her and watch over her," Arthur intones, "to share your knowledge and experience with her as she grows, and to help her in her journey to becoming a strong and wise adult?"

"We do!"

"Thank you all," says Molly, dabbing at an eye with her sleeve.

Bill hands his new daughter to his left, to Charlie, who whispers something to her, and kisses the little girl on her forehead. Charlie passes Dominique to his left, to Percy, who does the same. This is my favorite part of the Naming Ceremony – what a way to start your life, with kisses, good wishes, and promises of love. When Angelina passes the baby girl to me, I look into her eyes, and whisper, "I wish you happiness." Then I kiss her on the forehead, and pass her to Ron.

Ron looks at me significantly, then looks Dominique in the eyes and whispers, "I wish you good friends," before kissing her as well, and passing her to Gabrielle.

After Dominique is back in her father's arms, the ceremony is over, and the party begins in earnest.

Ron leans over and whispers in my ear, inviting me outside where we can talk privately. Though my heart pounds uncomfortably in my chest, I remind myself again of my purpose, and I follow him.

He looks down, and digs his toe into the cold dirt of the dormant garden. "How have you been?"

"It's been an interesting month, Ron. How about you?"

"Yeah," he says, "Harry told me about the Venomous Tentacula. You're all better?"

"I am," I tell him, my hands in my pockets, both for warmth and because I don't really know what else to do with them.

"I'm glad," he says.

Well, it's a start. We are talking civilly, instead of yelling.

"Nice ceremony," I say. "Bill and Fleur make very pretty babies."

He nods. Silence falls, as we seem to have exhausted our capacity for small talk.

"I've missed you, Hermione," he blurts. "It's been awful not feeling like I can talk to you."

"I've missed you, too, Ron. I-"

"Go on," he urges, reaching out for my hand.

I take his hand, and plunge onward. "Yesterday, Ron, I watched my memory of being tortured by Bellatrix. I put it in Dumbledore's pensieve, and watched it."

"Gods, Hermione, why would you do such a thing?"

"Severus and I are working on a possible cure for long-term damage from Cruciatus. We were doing research. But the point, Ron, is that I heard you. Calling to me from the basement, every time she hit me with the curse and I screamed, you cried my name. And I saw how you rushed in to save me from her, and from Greyback. I- It really brought it home to me, Ron, that I need your friendship. You're a part of my life, and I don't want that to change."

"My friendship, eh?" He digs his toe into the ground again, but keeps hold of my hand.

"I'm sorry, Ron, but that's all I have to give right now. Can it be enough?"

He nods, watching his shoes. "I guess it'll have to be."

"Oh, Ron," I cry, impulsively kissing him on the cheek, "Thank you. I'm so sorry we ever fought. I'm so sorry for everything."

He blushes, right up to the tips of his ears. "I'm sorry, too," he says. "You know, it was horribly embarrassing back at Halloween, with the rumors, and the gossip column… but I guess the worst of it is over, isn't it?"

"It was awful, Ron, for me, too. But I think you're right that we're old news now. I think Skeeter will leave us alone for a while."

This time the silence is slightly more comfortable. We stroll in the chilly air, still holding hands.

"So, your work with Snape is coming along?"

"It is, yes," I say, "it's been pretty exciting. We may be on to something that could actually help Neville's parents!"

"That's great, Hermione. I'm glad you're getting a lot out of it. I know it's important to you. He's behaving himself, Snape?"

"He's… he's great, Ron. I really enjoy working with him. I know you find that hard to believe, but he's brilliant, and he's a great teacher when you get him one-on-one."

Ron raises his eyebrows and smirks.

"Oh, Ron, don't be such a prat."

"You like him, don't you." It's not a question.

"I do. But right now, we're not dating, we're just working together and enjoying each other's company. I can't say where things will go with him, but I do like him, and I think he likes me too."

"I still don't know what you see in him. Is it, like Skeeter said, that he's dangerous? I never thought you were that kind of girl."

"No, Ron, that's not it at all. I actually feel very safe around him. He takes good care of me. Look, I'm not asking you to understand it. But… can you accept it enough to be my friend?"

He nods again. "What about your secret admirer bloke? Still getting presents?"

"Nothing since Christmas."

"Ah, well. Just as well, eh? Seems a little creepy to me anyway, sneaking around like that, right?"

I grin at him. He'd be appalled if he knew the whole story. But I don't plan to ever tell him.

"Hey," he says, giving my hand a squeeze, "I bet they're serving the cake by now. Let's get back inside."

"Let's," I agree. We walk back toward the house, still hand in hand.

"You know, my family's going to get the wrong idea," he says, raising his hand and carrying mine upward along with it.

"Do you want to let go?"

"No." He laughs. "Let 'em wonder."

As we step inside, I see the gnomes. I want to liberate them now, let them be as free as I suddenly feel now that Ron and I are speaking again.

"You go get us a couple of slices of cake," I suggest. "It's so crowded in there. I'll wait here by the fireplace." He gives my hand a parting squeeze, and elbows his way toward the cake.

"Finite Incantatem," I mutter, pointing my wand at the gnomes.

Suddenly, they leap off the mantel at me, looking angrier than Filch when Peeves throws chalk at his head. I run for it, and they chase me back out the door into the chilly afternoon sun.

* * *

**Part four: Ron**

I'm gone for thirty seconds to grab two pieces of cake, and she disappears on me? Where the hell did she go?

Out on the lawn, suddenly, I hear her screaming. I race out the door to find her running down the path with a mob of angry, nappie-clad garden gnomes at her heels. Charlie, George, and Harry sprint into view from the other side of the house. Charlie gets there first, and plants himself in the middle of the path, wand drawn, ready to duel whatever is making Hermione scream.

"Charlie," she shrieks, "Save me!" She leaps into his arms, and he looks down at the gnomes and starts laughing.

"Stupefy," yells Harry, stunning the dirty little things.

George tosses them into the garden, laughing at Hermione, who is now standing, red-faced, wrapped in Charlie's arms.

"Damn, Hermione," George teases, "If you're working your way through the Weasley brothers, I hope I'm next!"

"Not until I'm done with her, little brother," laughs Charlie.

She buries her face in her hands, shaking – with laughter, anger, or relief, I cannot say. "Harry," she mock-wails, and now I can hear the laughter in her voice, "get me out of this!"

I stride over to her, and hand her the cake. "You just had to set them free, didn't you?"

She nods, shaking with silent laughter.

"Well, then, that's what you get for messing with the decorations, Hermione. Now, why don't you leave my brothers alone, and catch me up on everyone at Hogwarts?"

"Oh, great idea," says Charlie. "How's Hagrid?"

"Tell me about Minerva," says George. "I know she misses me, she must go on about it all the time."

"And Neville," adds Harry, as the guys all pull Hermione to a bench in the garden and seat themselves around her. "Do you see him much?"

I sigh, and join them. It looks like I'd better get used to sharing her.

* * *

**Part five: Hermione**

What a day! I'm completely knackered from spending all day at the Burrow. I'm so glad I went. I wound up having so much fun that I even stayed for dinner.

I stretch out on my couch, and pull my journal toward me. As I document my day, the ink turns to gold. I'm so close to the end of this book! I must get to Hogsmeade soon to get another one.

Just as I am starting to think about heading off to bed, a knock sounds at my door. Gods, I hope it's not Crawford again. I really don't have the energy to face him.

I pull open the door, but no one is there – at least, no one visible. But hovering in mid-air, about four feet off the ground, are a brand new journal and quill. I pluck them from the air and pull them to me. I feel Severus brush past me as he enters my quarters, and I close the door behind him and turn back toward the couch. As expected, one cushion bears the telltale indentation.

"These are lovely," I tell him. "Thank you so much. I was just thinking, moments ago, that I needed a new journal. I only have a few blank pages left in my old one."

I turn the new journal over in my hands. It is covered in a shimmery silver cloth, with a purple binding. I open it, and read on the first page, _You were running out of pages. Consider this an early Valentine's Day gift. The colors reminded me of you. _ I examine the quill – it is swan feather. I have always loved swans, having identified with the fable of the Ugly Duckling as a girl.

"They're perfect," I tell him. "I wish I could repay you somehow for all your beautiful, thoughtful gifts." Then it hits me – the party favors from the Naming Ceremony!

"I have an idea," I say, and retrieve a pink box from my counter. I open it, and select one of the magical chocolate baby rattles inside. I sit next to him, and shake it. It tinkles softly. "Here, try this: a little token of my gratitude." I hold it out for him and wait as the seconds tick by. Will he take it, or refuse it?

* * *

**Part six: Severus**

Damn her. If I want to keep my identity hidden, I will have to eat the chocolate. And not just any chocolate, but chocolate shaped like a tinkling baby rattle. And of course, I definitely do not want her to know who I am. I do not plan to tell her so, but this is goodbye. Mystery Man's final visit. Though I have resolved to take myself out of her life, I needed to spend this one last night with her. I have not yet decided if I will leave a farewell note in the journal as I go.

I reach out and hold her outstretched hand in mine, to keep it steady. She gasps at the contact, as she does every visit when I first touch her. I will miss having that effect on her. I pull her hand toward my mouth, and take the bulbous end of the chocolate rattle into my mouth. It melts onto my tongue, and the sweetness of sugar mixed with the bitterness of the chocolate is actually quite… tolerable. Almost pleasant. It is creamy, smooth, and, yes, actually, delicious. Why have I not eaten any chocolate in decades? I had forgotten this sensation.

She watches, fascinated, as more of it disappears into my mouth. I am taking my time, savoring this experience. When I get to the end, the last bits of rattle have melted onto her fingers. I pull her thumb into my mouth, sucking it clean, and a groan escapes her lips. Her index and middle fingers are chocolate-coated as well, but she pulls her hand out of my grasp. Does she intend to lick them clean herself? I shall enjoy watching… No – the minx smears the chocolate on her own throat and collarbones.

She smiles wickedly. "You want the rest? Come and get it."

I do. And I do. She sighs with pleasure as I ravage her neck with my tongue. When the chocolate is gone, I reach for the pink box left open on the table in front of the couch, and pull out a second rattle. This time, I hold it out for her.

Sweet Merlin – she isn't just eating the damned thing, she is practically fellating it. She grasps my wrist, and licks the chocolate rattle, sucks it, swirls her tongue around the round tip of it. "Mmmmmm," she moans as she ever so slowly devours the thing. I have chocolate melted all over my fingers now, and she pulls my hand toward her and sucks my middle finger deep in to her mouth. She releases my now chocolate-free finger, and holds my hand up before her, considering my remaining digits.

Fuck, this girl does not mess around. With one hand, she unbuttons her blouse. With the other, she traces my chocolate fingers down her breastbone and across the top of each breast as it peeks out from its lacy container. Severus Snape is no fool. I willingly follow the trail with my tongue.

* * *

**Part seven: Hermione**

Gods, what a brilliant idea! I should have thought of this long ago. We've gone through almost all of the party favor chocolates, eating them, melting them, smearing chocolate all over each other. And my god, Severus's cock covered in chocolate is a very beautiful thing – this is my first real look at it. Yes, definitely beautiful. And delicious. I've just finished licking the last of the chocolate off of his balls, having already sucked his cock clean, when he pulls me gently upright. Why is he stopping me now? The chocolate may be gone, but that doesn't mean I was DONE.

He places my hands on his shoulders, and grasps my hips, pulling me toward him on my knees. He urges my hips upward, and I feel him sliding underneath me. Oh, oh, oh! I feel him at my entrance, and I am completely ready for him. I ease myself down, impaling myself slowly on his shaft.

"Oh, fuck, that's incredible," I gasp, "so deep." I've never done this before, but I can say right now with certainty that I will absolutely do this again. I love the angle, and I love the control I have over the speed and depth of penetration. His hands on my hips guide me as I rise and fall. Once again, I desperately wish I could hear him and see him, so I could gauge his reactions, adjust so that he is getting just what he needs. His right hand disappears from my hip, and reappears – oh! – as a thumb making slow circles around my clit as I continue to raise and lower myself onto his thick cock. The sensation is too much for me, and I start to lose my rhythm, I'm getting erratic as I get closer and closer to my release.

He takes both my hands in his left hand now, and places his right on my lower back. I whimper at the loss of that thumb that was driving me wild, but he leans forward, easing me now onto my back on the couch. He takes over the lead now, as I straighten my legs and then wrap them around his thighs. He supports himself with one hand, pinning both of my hands above my head with the other. He moves slowly, gently, so different from the rough, almost desperate quality of our first time. He kisses my throat, my breasts. He traces my scars reverentially with his tongue. Why does it feel like he is leaving me? I don't want him to go – I need him. I want more of him, and wrap one leg higher onto his back. The change in angle makes me gasp again.

"Oh, yes, yes," I groan. "God, you feel so good inside me." He responds by thrusting harder, but still slowly. I love it, I love it. "More," I pant, "more, please, fuck me harder, please, I looooove it!" He obliges, and I can feel I'm getting close again. I wrap the other leg higher onto his back as well. He changes position to maximize the friction, deepen the penetration, pulling one of my ankles to his shoulder. "Yes, my god, that's… so… deep… so… good… yes… yes." I'm at the brink, I can feel the vortex beginning, I'm spinning, spinning into the depths, pulled in, sucked in. "Oh, god, yes, that's it," I babble, almost incoherently, losing control as I tip over the edge, "please don't stop, please, please, it's so good, Severus, yes, yes… Ohhhh!" I am lost, spinning into the darkness, as my entire body convulses around him.

* * *

_A/N: OK, so I'm leaving for another vacation, this one 9 days long. Not sure how much writing I'll be doing. But since I left you with a bit of a cliffie (as in, "Oh no she di'n't!"), I'll try to get chapter 14 up for you before too long._

_So… I think Hermione may have invented my new favorite dessert…_


	14. Chapter 14: Secrets of the Heart

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the characters or setting – those belong to JK Rowling, to whom I am eternally grateful for creating the Potterverse. I'm just taking a couple of her characters out for a spin, but promise to return them, only slightly the worse for wear.

_A/N 1: This story is AU in that Severus Snape did not die. A rather brainy brunette saved him after Nagini's attack in DH. As much as is possible, I'll make this canon-compliant, though I'm ignoring the epilogue._

_A/N 2: __**You are all so nice. Felena1971**__ and I were a bit afraid you'd come after us with pitchforks and torches after where we left you last time. But really the worst that happened was __**Albe-Chan**__ calling me a "naughty, naughty minx." And to be honest, I kind of liked that… Speaking of which, I used a phrase in here that I think I heard first in an __**Albe-Chan**__ story ("Professor" if I'm not mistaken…). It's an homage, darling, not theft, right? And by the way, this chapter would have SUCKED without __**Felena1971**__'s input. I went way off track and got stuck. She pulled me free and reoriented me. That said, let's get back to the story:_

**Chapter 14: Secrets of the Heart**

* * *

**Part one: Severus**

"Please don't stop, please, please, it's so good, Severus!"

Her whole body contracts around me as she reaches her climax.

My stomach contracts, too, as her words echo in my mind and I confirm that yes – she did cry my name in the heat of passion.

My name! My name on her lips as she came for me. Does she know? Can she know? How would Mystery Man – how would any lover – react to hearing another man's name this way? She wants Severus – wants me. She already has me, of course, but cannot continue to have me, and she may not yet know that she has me. The rush of information, possibilities, options is overwhelming, and could not have come at a worse moment. My thoughts chase each other in lightning-fast circles, but my body is frozen.

"Severus," she whispers now. "Severus, please. Don't stop."

Her hand cups my face. In my moment of hesitation, of shock, she has pulled one hand free from my slackened grip. She caresses my jaw, moves her fingers lightly over my lips, strokes my hair and, finding the ribbon, pulls it loose. My hair falls around my face, and she threads her fingers into it, sighing my name again.

She looks directly into my eyes though she cannot see them. "I want to see you and hear you as you come inside me," she says. "My wand is on the table. Use it, Severus. Lift the spell and be with me, really with me."

Though the shock of hearing my name had taken the edge off of my physical need for her, her words cause an unmistakable reaction. I stiffen inside her, and bend to ravage her mouth. But her hand moves to my chest, stopping me.

"My wand," she gasps. "I want you so much – all of you – your face, your words. I want to hear you say my name, too. Please. It's on the table – use it."

I have not yet said her name tonight, despite the Silencio charm that protects me. I have bitten it back countless times. The desire – to be free to say it, to be myself, to be her lover, to fully possess her – is irresistible. Under the circumstances, there is now no reason to remain hidden.

Her eyes grow wide as she watches the wand move. We are both holding our breath.

I point the wand at myself, and though neither of us can hear it, I utter the spell.

"Finite Incantatem."

* * *

**Part two: Hermione**

The air above me shimmers as it takes his shape, coalescing into his alabaster skin and ebony hair. I gasp as the fantasy becomes reality: I am making love with Severus Snape.

"Hermione," he murmurs, and kisses me. Slowly, gently, we begin to rock together, his black eyes glittering with passion. He is so tender with me. My eyes rake over him, gorging on the sight of him. I can't keep my hands off of his face, out of his hair – all the places that have been forbidden before this moment.

"My gods, Severus," I say, my fingers tracing the sharp peaks of his upper lip, the full curve of his lower lip, the dark arch of his eyebrow, the ridge of his cheekbone. "My gods, you're beautiful."

He kisses my neck, nuzzles my shoulder. "Is this what you wanted, Hermione? To be able to see me, to hear what you do to me, how you make me feel?" His normally silky voice is husky with emotion.

"I have everything I want now, Severus. I don't need anything else."

He wants to tell me. I can see in his eyes that there is much that he wants to say. But even though he is visible and has nothing more to hide, he says nothing. Instead – with his hands, his mouth, his body – he shows me how he feels. I let his silky hair fall through my fingers as he explores my body. We both watch his hands moving over me, caressing me. I pull his face back up to mine – I can't get enough of kissing him, after being denied the pleasure for so long.

His hips, which had been gyrating gently, begin to move more purposefully. "You are so beautiful," he says, and thrusts into me slowly, deeply. "So desirable," he says, coaxing a moan out of me with his next push. "So very exquisite," he says, and I tilt my pelvis to take him more deeply inside me this time. "Every push into you is so intense I can barely stand it. I don't know how I can keep going, but I never want to stop."

Sweet Merlin, I don't ever want him to stop either. No one has ever told me I was desirable, let alone exquisite. I've just never thought of myself in those terms. Yet with Severus, of all people, I have begun to feel alluring. I pull him closer, kiss his mouth, his chin, his eyelids.

He groans, feeling my passion rise. Before long, we are both at the brink again, only this time, I can see the strain in his neck muscles, the heat in his face. He can't hold on much longer, and he wants to take me with him. His guttural vocalizations are arousing me more than I thought possible, and I moan with pleasure as I feel myself sliding inexorably toward oblivion, for the second time tonight.

I grab him, hard, by the shoulders. He is the only solid thing in this world. "Oh, my gods, Severus, yes," I cry, and he follows me, still thrusting, grunting, cursing. With one last heroic thrust he fills me with fire. We collapse, breathless, onto the couch, my arms wrapped around his neck.

* * *

**Part three: Severus**

She tucks my hair behind my ear and whispers, "Stay with me tonight, Severus."

Stay and sleep with her? Remain close to her now, just when I am supposed to be extricating myself from her life? That I cannot do. I had intended for this to be Mystery Man's final visit. The events of this evening have certainly complicated matters, and I cannot let this develop further into a relationship she will perceive as romantic.

"No," I tell her simply. "I must return to my own quarters – alone," I add, as she opens her mouth to protest.

She considers me silently for a moment, then her face lights again with inspiration. "Then at least stay for a little while. Let's take a bath. We'll clean up." She reaches for her wand where I dropped it, gestures toward the back of her quarters, and I hear water begin to run in the tub.

I do have some questions I want answered, actually. Perhaps I need not depart immediately. "What have you got around here to drink?"

She smiles and kisses me again, pleased that I intend to stay at least long enough for a drink. "Elf-made wine, or firewhiskey?"

"The wine," I say.

She wriggles out from underneath me, and walks toward her bathroom, her bare arse swaying seductively. "Come with me," she says, looking back over her shoulder, "we can drink in the tub." She summons the wine and two goblets from her cabinet, and they float along behind her, disappearing around the corner.

Damn her. She is determined to get me into the bath. I follow.

The soft green tiled room is warm and steamy. She is already submerged up to her neck in a large white claw-footed tub full of pale silvery bubbles. The goblets, now filled, hover near the center of the bath. Her eyes sweep the length of my body, and I am suddenly acutely aware of my nakedness. Standing before her, without the cloak of darkness or a disillusionment charm, I am utterly exposed.

"You could just stand there and let me admire you," she says, "or you could join me." She sweeps a bubble-covered arm in a welcoming gesture. "Either way is fine with me, I assure you. It's an exceptional view."

I step in at the opposite end. The water is hot – almost too hot – and my breath catches for a second as I adjust to the temperature. I sink in, my legs sliding next to hers, the bubbles reaching all the way to my shoulders. I scowl, and push them away.

"Trust me, Severus," she says. "You'll enjoy the bubbles. I was right about the chocolate, wasn't I?"

Yes, and that reminds me of another question I must ask. But for the moment, I settle for pulling my wine glass toward me, and, out of habit, swirling the deep garnet liquid under my nose. It has a pleasing aroma, and I suddenly realize that I should not be able to smell the wine this clearly while sitting in a bubble bath. "Unscented bubbles, Hermione?"

"Of course. I couldn't have you smelling like lavender all day tomorrow, could I? I am too partial to your natural scent, Severus, to do anything to obscure it."

I raise my glass to her, and take a sip. It is dry and spicy, with a slight taste of elderberries – a refined selection.

She raises her glass to me, as well, and moves her legs casually over mine as she, too, takes a sip. Her eyes close as she savors the taste.

A soft tone, barely audible, catches my ear. Moments later a second note sounds, just as lightly, in harmony with the first.

A smile plays on her lips. "Isn't it lovely, Severus?"

"What is it?" A third tone sounds, and the first fades away completely, only to be replaced by another. The ethereal chords, combined with the warmth of the water and the complete release of my orgasm mere minutes ago have me feeling more relaxed than I have felt since before the start of the school year.

"Tranquil Tones Bubble Bath. It's one of George Weasley's Wonder Witch products. The bubbles release the sounds as they pop. Isn't it brilliant?" She takes another sip and rests her head on the padded edge of the tub with a sigh.

It is brilliant, but I am not here to be thinking about George Weasley or bath products. I cannot wait any longer to ask the question that has been burning on my tongue. "How long have you known, Hermione?"

Her eyes open immediately, and she raises her head to meet my gaze. "Since New Year's Day," she answers, with a guilty flush – though I suppose the color in her cheeks could be explained by the hot bath.

I didn't see her on New Year's Day.

"It wasn't any one particular thing that gave you away," she says, as if she could hear my thoughts. "I was thinking about the night my mysterious visitor massaged my legs, after I'd gone ice skating – how erotic it was to have your invisible, yet masterful, hands on me, working my sore muscles. Mystery Man had great hands, strong and large, with long, elegant fingers like yours."

I lift my hand out of the water, and turn it in front of my face. My hands are, along with my sense organs, my most important tools in my potions work. They are also indispensable in the art of love. But from the sound of things, they were part of my undoing.

"It had to be someone very familiar with my taste in food," she continues, reaching out for my raised hand, and taking it in her own. "And someone I knew well enough to recognize, had I been able to touch your face or hear your voice, since you had restricted my hands, and had never spoken aloud. I knew that only a very powerful wizard could have created that necklace. And when a Muggle boy kissed me at midnight on New Year's Eve, and it didn't measure up in the slightest to our kiss at Halloween, I went to sleep with you on my mind. My brain made the connection as I slept, and when I woke up, I just knew."

"You are not angry with me for deceiving you?"

She crosses the tub, and kisses me again. Her wet eyelashes brush my cheeks. "Of course I'm not angry with you, Severus. I'm so glad that it's you. I meant what I said – that I would have been disappointed had my Mystery Man turned out to be anybody else."

"Why, then, did you let me continue this charade for the past month?"

"I knew you would reveal yourself to me when you were ready, and I fully intended to give you the time you needed. I didn't mean to push things tonight. I'm sorry – I just lost my head."

"It pleases me that I can make you lose control," I say with a soft chuckle. The gentle music of the bubbles is taking the edge off of my concerns. I find it far less urgent that I leave her quarters tonight. In fact, I can think of nothing more inviting than slipping into her bed with her, the scent of her clean flesh in my nose, and the silky smoothness of her legs intertwined with mine.

She has turned so that her back now rests against my chest, and she is nestled in between my legs. With one hand, I hold my wine glass; the other rests on the submerged curve of her hip.

"Severus," she sighs again, "I've been losing control around you for three months now. But tonight – tonight was especially wonderful. I really don't want it to end. Are you sure you can't stay?"

"No," I laugh, "I'm not sure at all."

She leans her head back on my shoulder, and reaches up with her free hand to pull my lips down to hers. My nose bumps her chin. "Good," she murmurs as she kisses me again. She tastes of wine and chocolate.

Oh, yes. I had another question, did I not?

"So you knew all along that I was your visitor tonight, and yet you thanked me for your new journal by hand-feeding me chocolate?"

She laughs, so musically that it blends seamlessly with the Tranquil Tones Bubble Bath. "You're not angry with me, are you?"

I sweep her damp hair to one side, and lower my mouth to her exposed ear. "What do you think?" I ask, tracing around the pink shell with my tongue and capturing her earlobe gently between my teeth. She groans softly, and I release it.

"I think it's time for bed, Severus," she says.

I concur.

* * *

**Part four: Hermione**

When we got to my bed, we made love again – slowly, sensuously, powerfully. He is such a generous lover.

I fell asleep spooned into him, and woke this morning with his engorged cock pressed between us.

In the clear, pale light of dawn, he reaches over me, strokes my breasts and belly, and growls softly in my ear as he pulls me onto my back and slides his fingers down to my already-wet core.

"Sweet Merlin, Severus," I moan as a grin spreads across my face. "You're insatiable."

Crookshanks gives me a reproachful look, and moves from the bed to the armchair.

"Good morning," Severus murmurs against my belly as he kisses his way down, his tongue joining his hands and making me squeal with delight.

"Oh my gods, yes," I agree. "Yes, it most certainly is."

* * *

**Part five: Severus**

I am weak. That is the only explanation for my continued presence in her bed. Why am I here, having made love to her yet again, instead of back in my own quarters concocting a plan to get myself out of this mess?

She rises on unsteady legs to walk to the bathroom. Her flesh is marred by red splotches from where I have held her tightly, kissed and sucked greedily.

"Good thing I don't have to go anywhere today, Severus. I can barely walk. Shall we just spend the entire day in bed? I can order up some food for us. Dottie is a very discreet house-elf."

"No, Hermione," I say, raising myself on one elbow to watch her wobbly progress. "If we are both absent at breakfast, people will begin to talk again."

"Damn. You're right." She disappears into the bathroom.

I could just leave. Now. While she is out of the room, I could put my clothes back on and go. But that would be ungentlemanly of me, and I will need to face her again at mealtimes, and in our work together. No. I can dress myself, however, and tell her when she reemerges that I will see her at breakfast. I walk to the sitting room to retrieve my clothes.

The bathroom door reopens, and she discovers me standing near the couch, my clothes and wand clutched in my hands.

"Severus," she says, her eyes moving from my face to the door and back again, "breakfast won't be served for another couple of hours. You don't need to leave yet."

"I do need to leave, Hermione. I should never have stayed this long."

She walks over to me, plucks my wand from my hand, and tosses my clothes onto the couch. "Stay," she says.

So this is what happens when Hermione Granger gets good and properly laid – she becomes quite dictatorial. My cock twitches involuntarily. I like this domineering side of her quite a bit more in this context than I did when she was bossing my students around in my classroom. Somehow I doubt it was a good fuck that brought it out in her back then. Maybe it was repressed sexuality.

Still holding my wand, she returns to the bedroom.

What's a wandless wizard to do?

A few seconds later, I arrive in the bedroom to find her sitting, still naked, in the armchair by the window, now holding both our wands. Crookshanks, uprooted once again, stalks out of the room. She points to the bed. "Sit," she says.

I sit, obediently. What am I, her dog? But I am intrigued by her commanding tone.

"I told you last night, Severus, that I am not angry at your deception, and I meant it. But I answered your questions, and now it's my turn. I'd like some answers."

"And if I refuse to answer?" How serious is she?

"I am the one holding the wands, Severus," she says. "You might need to be punished for being uncooperative."

Fuck. My cock twitches again and she notices, raising her eyebrows pointedly and trying unsuccessfully to suppress her grin.

"Punished in what way? The precise method of torture may influence my willingness to answer."

"I'm not sure yet. But I'm certain I could come up with something… unbearable." She twirls my wand in her fingers, then places the tip suggestively against her lips.

Such Slytherin tactics! In a flash, I realize she is fully capable of making good on her promise.

"Well then," I say, "this interview could prove to be quite… revealing."

She moves my wand absently, back and forth across her soft lips, her eyes glued to mine. She deliberates long and hard as she composes her question.

"Severus," she finally begins, "What made you start it? Why the elaborate invisibility and gift-giving plan?"

Of course I knew this was coming. But I have not decided how much I should tell her. I am not sure I understand it all myself. It all started at her birthday, when I tried to cheer her up so that she would not be crying in my presence as we worked together. Or perhaps it started when I agreed to work with her on her Dark Arts Damage Reversal studies – a situation that was influenced, if not caused outright, by the night that she saved me from Voldemort and Nagini. Or did it begin the very first day she stepped into my classroom, a dozen years ago? Perhaps it is impossible to pinpoint the beginning of the path that brought us here. Just as it may be impossible to determine the point at which the ink turned silver. When did caring for my own needs become less important than caring for hers?

"It is a simple question, Severus," she says. "I'm beginning to think you don't want to answer it."

"Human motivations are rarely simple, Hermione."

She licks the tip of my wand and traces it down her neck. "The sooner you give me the information I want, the sooner I will give your OTHER wand this same treatment."

I swallow, hard. Potent motivation, that.

"I knew you were unhappy on your birthday," I croak. "I wanted to make the day better for you." It is the truth, so far as it goes.

"Why? You never seemed to care about my happiness before."

I should just tell her that I was being selfish, that I could not stand her weeping and would have done anything to make it stop. She would be insulted, but that would make it easier for me to end this.

She drags the tip of the wand down to the hollow between her breasts, then brushes it lightly across one nipple. It stiffens into a dusky peak before my eyes. I stiffen as well: at least one part of me is not sure I actually do want to end this.

"I- I'd never spent so much time with you before. Your happiness became more important to me the more time we spent together." Still true, though incomplete.

"Why be invisible, then? If you cared about my happiness, couldn't you have given me the journal during one of our work sessions?"

And now the questions become much more difficult to answer. I did not want to be responsible for her happiness, personally. I merely wanted to distract her from her sadness. It worked, and far better than I could have expected, as the journal became both distraction and confidante to her. How would she react to such information?

Answering to her satisfaction becomes an even greater priority as she draws a meandering path with my wand – around her breast, and then heading generally downward as she tosses one leg over the chair's arm.

"My feelings for you at that point were… collegial. I did not want to give you the wrong impression with my gift, so I gave it anonymously."

"But at some point, Severus, your feelings for me changed. By Boxing Day, we were both writing to each other in silver ink. Why not reveal yourself then?"

Because the more I came to care about her, the more I knew that I was not the right man for her. Because I cannot give her what she needs. Because I would only end up hurting her. Oh, Merlin – my wand!

"Because I never intended for things to go anywhere near as far as they have!"

She drops the wand and sits up straight in the armchair, her eyes wide now with astonishment. Apparently her little game is over now that I have blurted out some raw, unvarnished truth.

"Haven't you enjoyed our times together?"

"My reply should be readily apparent, Hermione. We are quite obviously well-matched physically."

"Severus – there is more to it than that." Her eyes glisten, and she comes to sit next to me on the edge of the bed.

"Our time working together has also been interesting and productive."

"You're being obtuse. For some time now, your feelings for me have been more than collegial. I know what the silver ink means, and so do you."

"The ink does not mean everything you think it means." I rise, and walk across the room to stand with my back toward her. I cannot stand to see the hurt in her eyes. "My feelings are irrelevant."

"The ink may not mean everything, Severus. But it does mean something. Something we can't ignore."

"Why can't we ignore it? We have free will!"

She steps behind me, wraps her arms around my waist and presses her cheek to my back. "My gods, Severus. Of course you have free will. I can't force you to think, feel, say, or do anything you don't want to do – nor would I want to. And the ink is not your master, either. But Severus, it is, in some ways, your servant. It shows you the secrets of your heart, lifts them up for you, allowing you to own your feelings rather than deny them, to be more whole."

Yes, I have free will. At every step along the path that has led me to this untenable situation, I have exercised my free will. I created this disaster. I made conscious decisions to give her the gifts, to let her know of my invisible presence in her quarters, to enter into a sexual relationship with her. So why do I feel powerless, out of control, as though I am being swept out to sea by a raging river?

"The ink was an incredible gift, Severus. It helped me so much. Without it, I might still be struggling along in a doomed relationship with Ron. I might never have acknowledged how my feelings for you have changed since my school days. You believed in the benefits of the mood-sensing ink enough to give it to me as a gift. Why are you so reluctant to trust it now?"

If I tell her the truth, it will be over. She could never love me after she learns why I gave her that ink. I will be free. I should feel more enthusiastic about saying what I need to say.

"Any benefit you got out of the ink was purely incidental. The intended benefits were all for me."

She releases me. "For you? How could the ink have benefited you?" She pulls on my arm, spinning me to face her. "Severus – were you reading my journal?"

"No," I tell her. "Yes."

"Which is it, Severus?"

"On only one occasion did I read any of your journal, and it was accidental. At Christmas, I was merely glancing through to see how much you had written. It seemed you would need a new journal soon. But my eyes happened to catch sight of my name, and I did read the passage. You had written about our encounter in Hogsmeade." I had, of course, attempted to read in her journal on the night of my birthday, to find out if she did suspect me of being her Mystery Man. But she woke before I read a word.

Her face reddens, but I cannot tell if it is with anger at the invasion of privacy, or embarrassment that I read her words describing our heated kiss at Halloween. I know she meant to keep those thoughts from me, and taught herself Occlumency for that purpose. But neither anger nor embarrassment is enough to stop her in her pursuit of knowledge. "If you never intended to read the journal, I don't understand how the ink could have helped you."

"You will not like the answer, Hermione. And while I do think our personal relationship has gone too far, I would like to maintain a professional relationship with you so that we can finish our work. We can do some good in the world, I think, if we continue our research. Under the circumstances, I expect our work sessions to be uncomfortable enough. Do not ask me for information you do not want to hear, or that work may well become impossible."

"I want to hear it, Severus." She leads me back toward the bed, and pulls me down to sit next to her again. "The very fact that you want to do good in the world means that you are not the monster you pretend to be. I know you. I may not like what you have to say, but I have faith that it was done in the service of good."

"You are wrong about me. I gave you that ink, not in the service of good, but in the service of my own selfish desires."

"How?"

My gods, she is stubborn. Why does she refuse to believe me?

"Actually, I used your own idea against you. I bought not one, but two bottles of mood-sensing ink. I cast a Protean charm on them, and gave one to you."

"Like the D.A. galleons," she gasps, as realization dawns. "So you knew how I was feeling every time I wrote in my journal! Severus, that is ingenious. Rather invasive, I'll admit, but then so was sneaking into my quarters invisibly: I'm willing to overlook both for right now until I get to the bottom of this mystery. I still don't see what benefit you got from knowing my moods. You didn't turn up here every time I was feeling passionate, or at least I am not aware of those visits if they happened. Were you… watching me?"

"Voyeurism? Nothing so prurient, I assure you. I used the ink to protect myself."

"From me?"

"From your emotions." If I do not end this conversation this very moment, I will be forced to tell her exactly what a callous bastard I am. And then she will exercise her own free will. I only hope she will consent to continue our research.

"Why on earth did you need protection from my emotions?"

"Because I found it annoying when you brought your pain and agony with you to my lab for our work sessions. Early in the term, you were frequently sad or angry – or both. You were unable to focus on work, and you were distracting to me as well. I have better things to do with my time than to listen to you whining about your pathetic love life. When I saw my ink bottle turning blue, I was able to cancel our session for that day, and give my time to more rewarding activities. Marking potions essays written by moronic first-years, for instance."

"Oh."

Finally. I have silenced her. She appears Stunned – just sitting still, her mouth slightly open, her eyes gazing blankly into the middle distance. I have made my case quite convincingly, I believe. She will no longer be interested in pursuing an emotional attachment to me, as I have just proven I am uninterested in her emotions. Ten galleons says her ink is no longer silver when she writes about me next. Nor purple, for that matter.

I rise, retrieve my wand from where she dropped it near the window, and walk to the sitting room to reclaim my clothing. She does not stop me.

"Severus," she calls, just as I am doing up my trousers. I look up to find her in the bedroom doorway, still naked and achingly beautiful. "It was Christmas, you said, when you accidentally read some of my journal." Her eyes blaze into mine.

"Yes." I pause, shirt in my hands, robe still heaped on the floor.

She runs to me, throws her arms around my neck and pulls me into a passionate kiss. "You do love me," she whispers against my lips.

My shirt falls to the floor as my body goes slack with the realization that I have given myself away.

"I wasn't supposed to be here that night," she murmurs. "But I came home, here to Hogwarts, and wrote for ages in blue ink. And you found me. You didn't stay away; you came to me. You cared. You didn't even wake me: you just sat, watching over me. And you took care of me the entire next day, sending Dottie up here with my meals so that I would not have to face anyone."

I push her away. Merlin, this has all been far more difficult than I had expected. I was supposed to bring the damned journal and leave.

* * *

**Part six: Hermione**

"Hermione, listen to me: I am not the right man for you."

His hands are on my shoulders, literally keeping me at arms' length. I will not let him push me out of his life. "You are the man I want."

"I would only cause you pain."

"What could make you say that?"

He bends to retrieve his shirt, unable to look me in the face.

"The last time I cared for anyone," he mutters, "it ended… poorly."

The final piece of the puzzle falls into place, and it has dark red hair and Harry's eyes. No wonder he's afraid to let himself love – or live.

"Severus, look at me."

He raises his eyes, and they are rimmed with red.

"I'm not Lily. Things are different now. Voldemort is dead, and we are safe. I am not in love with your rival. I love you, Severus. No one but you."

He drops the shirt.

Suddenly, I am enfolded in his arms, pressed so tightly into his hard, heaving chest that it hurts.

* * *

_A/N: Tah dah! Over 5000 words of Severus and Hermione naked together. The climactic chapter, which just so happens to include several, er, climaxes. And some shit definitely hitting the fan. Hope you liked it!_

_This is not the end, however. There are still at least two chapters in the works. Do let me know what questions you still have, as I am doing my best to wrap up most of the remaining loose ends._


	15. Chapter 15: The Power of Red

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the characters or setting – those belong to JK Rowling, to whom I am eternally grateful for creating the Potterverse. I'm just taking a couple of her characters out for a spin, but promise to return them, only slightly the worse for wear.

_A/N 1: This story is AU in that Severus Snape did not die. A rather brainy brunette saved him after Nagini's attack in DH. As much as is possible, I'll make this canon-compliant, though I'm ignoring the epilogue._

_A/N 2: __As always, special thanks to Felena1971. I love brainstorming this stuff with her. Sometimes it's a little scary when we both think of the same thing in exactly the same words – how DOES she perform Legilimency from afar, without eye contact? By the way, the entire last section would have completely sucked without her creativity and vision._

**Chapter 15: The Power of Red**

* * *

**Part one: Hermione**

I push open the door to Greenhouse One, and call his name. "Neville?"

"Miss Granger!"

Damn. Wrong plant fanatic. I turn to make my escape, but he beats me to the door, with an enormous smile on his face.

"I've been hoping to catch you alone," he says happily, blocking my exit.

I watch for an opportunity to slip around him. "I'm sorry, Mr. Crawford," I tell him, "but I cannot stay to talk. Professor Longbottom was supposed to meet me here. Have you seen him?"

"I haven't. But I am very glad to see you."

"Are you… are you supposed to be here, Mr. Crawford?"

"Apparently I am, because otherwise I wouldn't be able to ask you to go with me to the Valentine's Day Dance Friday. Would you, Miss Granger, do me the honor of being my Valentine?"

What the hell?

"No, Mr. Crawford. I can't. I am busy that night chaperoning the dance along with the staff." Thank the gods I have a ready-made excuse.

He moves closer to me, grasps my arm. "How about after the dance, then? We could go for a walk, maybe up to the Astronomy Tower, to look at the stars."

"Mr. Crawford! I will not go to the Astronomy Tower with you!" I yank my arm back from him. I know what goes on at the Astronomy Tower late at night, and it isn't stargazing.

"Somewhere else, then, Valentine? A stroll on the grounds, down by the lake?"

"Nowhere, Mr. Crawford," I insist. "I am not, nor will I ever be, your Valentine!"

"Never say never, Miss Granger," he scolds, playfully.

I feel quite safe in saying 'never' in this instance. "Mr. Crawford, really – I am already involved with someone. You need to back off. Now."

"Oh," he says, suddenly more serious. "Is it Professor Snape?"

"No, of course not," I answer immediately, and perhaps a bit too defensively. "Professor Snape and I are colleagues, nothing more. Not that it's any business of yours."

"Tell me who it is, Miss Granger," he cajoles. "I must know the name of the man I am up against."

"Up against?" Honestly! "Mr. Crawford, you are not up against anyone. I didn't want to have to put it this baldly, but you were never in the running."

"Never in the…." His brow is furrowed, as he tries to puzzle out this concept. Crawford is unaccustomed to not getting his way. Then, in a flash, his face breaks into his customary smug smile. "You're such a tease, Miss Granger. I saw how you were looking at me in the Dining Hall a few weeks ago. You're just playing hard to get." His tongue darts out and swipes the corner of his mouth. "That's fine with me," he says. "I do enjoy the chase – when the quarry warrants the effort, of course. And you, Miss Granger, are definitely worth the effort."

Suddenly I bump into a work table. He has backed me halfway across the room, and I've been too dumbfounded to notice the movement. His lips are coming ever closer to mine, and I react instinctively – that is to say, in a Muggle way: I slap him soundly across the face.

Instead of recoiling, he grins. "Oh, you like it a little rough, do you? I can work with that." He puts one hand on either side of me on the battered old table, trapping me.

"Get off me, Crawford!"

* * *

**Part two: Neville**

"Stupefy!"

I've Stunned a student. The beam of red energy hits Crawford in the middle of his back, and he falls to the floor, unconscious. Hannah runs to check on Hermione. After checking on Crawford, I join them.

"Sorry, Hermione," I say, "I should have acted sooner. I was hoping he'd listen to you, though, and that magic wouldn't be necessary. I can't believe he was being so thick."

"How long were you there?" Her lips are a thin line.

"Long enough. He was right on his first guess, wasn't he? It is Snape you're seeing."

"It is. But I need you both to stay quiet about it. It's important." She looks beseechingly from me to Hannah and back. "I can't let word get out to anybody, or it could be the end of my studies with him. And we're really doing good work, Neville, which is why I wanted to meet with you. We- We're working on an idea to help people with long term damage from Cruciatus."

"Oh, Neville," gasps Hannah, clutching my arm, her eyes wide.

I lean on the work table for support. The air seems thicker in the greenhouse today than usual. "You – and Professor Snape – you think you can do some good for my parents?" After all these years… It's too much to hope for. I haven't allowed myself to think thoughts like these for years. But if anyone can do it, Hermione can.

"We can't say for sure, Neville, but we've been talking about this for months, and really working on the problem hard since early January. We have an idea we'd like to try, but we needed to get your permission, or St. Mungo's won't work with us."

Ever since the end of the war, everyone has known about my parents. My whole life story became public knowledge. But I don't need my students overhearing this discussion. If whatever Hermione and Snape have planned does not work, I don't need their pity.

"Just a moment, Hermione," I say, pushing off of the table, and gesturing to the inert student at our feet. "Let me take care of this, and then we can talk."

Hannah squeezes my shoulder sympathetically. "Do you want me to go, so you can have some privacy?"

"No, sweetheart," I tell her. "Please stay. I want you here."

She rewards me with her smile.

"Hermione, Crawford didn't come here with you, did he? Was he here when you arrived?"

"I found him here, Neville. I think he's doing extra work to try to impress you."

"Yes, he asked me last week to write a letter of recommendation for him. I was going to owl it to St. Mungo's tomorrow." Not anymore.

I point my wand at my student. "Rennervate."

He stirs, blinks, and rubs his head where he landed on it. Then he spies me, and shouts in alarm, "Professor Longbottom!"

"Ten points from Ravenclaw for you being here, unauthorized, Crawford."

The foolish boy looks relieved, as if he thinks he will get off so lightly. "Of course, Professor Longbottom, Sir. It won't happen again."

"No, I'm sure it won't. In addition, you have cost your house 100 points with your assault on Miss Granger. You're lucky I'm not recommending you be expelled."

He scrambles to his feet. "Thanks, Professor Longbottom. I – I didn't mean anything by it –"

"Shut up, Crawford, before you make me change my mind about the expulsion."

"Shutting up, Sir." He grabs his cloak, and heads for the door, apparently afraid to meet my eyes.

"Oh, and Mr. Crawford?"

He turns around, and I can see that the boy is terrified. I have never been so harsh with anyone in my whole life, but – for Merlin's sake! – he was attacking Hermione!

"You can forget about any letter of recommendation from me. In fact, you may want to meet with Professor Flitwick to discuss some alternative career plans."

"Professor Longbottom," he pleads.

"Go," I tell him. He is ashen-faced as he turns and leaves. When I turn back to Hermione and Hannah, I find that I am shaking.

"Wow, Neville," says Hermione. "I would almost feel sorry for him, if he wasn't such an idiot. Who knew you could be so forceful?"

"You were wonderful, sweetheart," says Hannah, beaming. I fold her in my arms, and breathe in the scent of her hair. It calms me immensely.

"Now – tell me about this research of yours, Hermione," I say, looking over the top of Hannah's head, into the eyes of the smartest person I've ever met. "It's been such a long time since I've had any hope for my parents' future. Do you really think you might be able to help them?"

* * *

**Part three: Hermione**

I can understand why Neville is wary of being hopeful. But he is willing to let us try, now that I've explained our approach.

Unshed tears shine in his eyes, and his jaw is set. His arms are still around Hannah, who has been silent all this time. Her touch strengthens him, and I smile inwardly at his good fortune. God knows he deserves it. Until fifth year, I had no idea of his private pain: he has always carried his parents' condition with him quietly and stoically. His status as a war hero, of course, changed all that – his life story is fodder for public consumption now, as is mine. He wears it well, actually. The scars on his face from his battles with the Carrows have given a more rugged look to his formerly chubby, boyish face, and he looks every bit the hero.

"I still can't believe how hard you and Snape have worked on this, Hermione," he says. "I mean, you – I can understand. But Snape never liked me. You must be a good influence on him."

"Actually, Neville, he doesn't need my influence to do good. He worked very hard on this problem several years ago, before any of us were ever students here, but with no success. Part of it, I feel certain, is that he enjoys the intellectual challenge of this seemingly intractable problem. But at some level, he just wants to help your parents."

"That doesn't sound like the Snape I know," he insists.

"The Professor Snape we knew as children, Neville, is only one part of who he is. We were too young, and too blinded by our roles as his students, to see the Severus I know now. He'll probably never be an openly friendly man – but he's a good man. One of the best people I know, Neville."

"If you trust him enough to become 'involved' with him, then I suppose that ought to be good enough for me."

"I'd trust him with my life, Neville."

He scans my face. "You love him."

My gaze is still locked with Neville's, but in my peripheral vision, I see Hannah's jaw drop open.

"I do, Neville. But again, please don't say anything to anyone, either of you. You saw all the attention we got at Halloween for one kiss. If word got out that we were seeing each other, it would be awful, especially for him, as he's such a private person. And it would certainly spell the end of my internship. It's got to be kept completely confidential, at least until June."

"No problem, Hermione," Neville promises. "I won't say anything, and either will Hannah."

Hannah nods in violent agreement. I trust her – she wants what's best for Neville, and right now, what's good for Neville is my continued work with Severus.

* * *

**Part four: Severus**

Gods, I hate Valentine's Day. On years like this one, when it falls on a weekend, Hogwarts holds a dance. The students cannot concentrate on their work for at least a week prior to the event, as all their attention is consumed by their pre-mating rituals of asking for a date, selecting their wardrobe, and gossiping with their friends about who will pair up with whom. On the night of the dance, someone inevitably spikes the punch bowl with firewhiskey. The older students grope each other covertly on the dance floor, and then search out empty classrooms, broom cupboards, or the Astronomy Tower to conclude their assignations. The week following the dance is generally full of more gossip, bragging boys, and giggly girls. So far, tonight's event is going according to the usual plan.

The major difference is wrapped in red velvet, and patrolling the back corners of the Dining Hall, which has been transformed into a Dance Hall for the evening. Hermione looks positively glamorous. Her hair is wound up on her head in some elaborate arrangement. From the back, she is a riot of brown curls piled atop a slender column of neck. Below that is a red bow – the straps tied at her neck appear to be all that holds the top of her dress in place: her arms and shoulders are bare, as is her back almost halfway down. The red fabric hugs her slim waist and full hips, then flares a bit, ending just below her knees. Her feet are strapped into high heels that match the color of her dress. I plan to devour her tonight. She looks as luscious as a ripe fruit.

I am supposed to be monitoring the punch bowl. It is not an exciting job, and gives me ample time to watch Hermione move gracefully about the room, pulling students out from dark corners and chivvying them back toward the dance floor. I do not mean to focus on her so exclusively, and try to shift my gaze more evenly around the room, but to little avail. She is by far the most attractive person in the Hall, and I notice with some satisfaction that I am not the only male to be captivated by her. Let them look. Though no one knows it but we two, she will be spending the next several hours with me. I smirk momentarily, before I catch myself and school my features back into a more characteristic scowl.

Every so often she glances my way, as well, and grants me a small, secret smile. At least I hope it is secret. It has been difficult to keep our new status as lovers from accidentally straying over into our public behavior. More than once she has almost grasped my hand or my arm in a corridor, and I fear we may sit too close at mealtimes. I often forget that there are hundreds of students seated at their house tables, and a long row of staff members at the head table, in the room with us.

Thank Merlin I have been teaching so long that I can do it now without having to pay much attention. Our work on the Cruciatus potion is nearly an all-consuming passion during the daylight hours – and we have other all-consuming passions to indulge in at night. I have never felt so alive as I have in these past two weeks – as if my brain were on fire all day, and my body aflame all night.

She understands, as I do, that it cannot last. Though she protested at first, I maintained that she will eventually want a younger man with a less violent history, and better prospects for his future. Still, I have agreed that at least until June, while we work together, we can continue our current arrangement. Three and a half more months. By then, I suspect I will be so accustomed to having my senses invaded by the sight, sound, feel, taste, and smell of her that I will not want to let her go. But I would rather have her now, for this brief time, than not have her at all. I will deal with the inevitable emptiness when it comes. I have my books, my lab. I have always been a solitary man. I will remember how to do it.

"Is everything all right, Severus?"

When my eyes focus back on the present moment, in the transformed Hall, I find Poppy Pomfrey standing before me, looking solicitous. Damn. I can only imagine what my expression might have been as I reflected on my eventual return to lonely bachelorhood.

"Of course it is, Poppy. I trust you are enjoying the dance as much as I am?" She looks different without her healer's uniform. Less stern.

She laughs, knowing full well that I am not enjoying the dance at all. "The music is a bit loud for my tastes, honestly, Severus. Has anyone spiked the punch yet? I could use something with a bit of a kick to it."

I almost chuckle at her irreverence, but hold it in. "Twice, actually. But I Vanished it and have replaced it with the original recipe both times. So I am sorry to report that no, it is as unpalatably bland as it was three hours ago when this nightmare began. The dance is almost over, is it not?"

"It is. Have you brewed some extra Sober-Up potion for me? Even without a spiked punch bowl, I know some of the staff will be over-indulging this evening, as will a number of the older students who have connections."

"I can already tell you Flitwick, Sinistra, and Hooch will be among those begging for that potion in a few hours. I put it into your medicine cabinet this afternoon, along with the Headache and Nausea potions, and a dozen extra doses of Emergency Contraception potion."

"Excellent, Severus. I can always count on you." She glances at Hermione, now strolling between tables of seated students, some wrapped casually in each other's arms, others clumped in groups, laughing and talking. "Hermione looks lovely tonight, doesn't she? Red is certainly her color."

I tear my eyes from my young lover, and attempt to look indifferent. "Oh really? I hadn't noticed."

"I do hope she's not too sad tonight. This is the first Valentine's Day in years that she hasn't been dating Ron Weasley. Why don't you cheer her up, Severus, by asking her for the last dance?"

"What? And leave my all-important post at the punch bowl?"

"Oh for Merlin's sake, Severus. What difference does it make if someone spikes the punch bowl this close to the end of the dance? Go on – ask her. There's nothing wrong with having one dance with a colleague."

She is literally pushing me toward Hermione. I recall what Hermione sensed in her when she first tried Legilimency, and stifle a smirk. Happy for us, is she? Though we have both worked to keep our weekly meetings with her focused exclusively on our work, Poppy is a perceptive woman. She is right, of course. One dance will not raise any eyebrows.

"I'll watch the punch bowl, Severus, if you are so concerned about it."

"Fine, Poppy. I will ask her, as it seems to be the only way to get you to leave me alone. I doubt that she will agree to it, regardless. I cannot imagine that the prospect of dancing with me will 'cheer her up' much." I grab a cup of punch from the table, and move off toward my lover, to ask her to dance.

On the dance floor, students are still hopping and shaking to loud raucous music. I do not know why they even call that 'dancing.' They are spastic animals in heat. I know from experience, however, as does Poppy, that the last song of the night will be a slow one, and I will be able to hold Hermione in my arms, rather than perform some dance-floor mating ritual.

"Would you give me the pleasure, Miss Granger, of joining me on the dance floor for the last dance of the night?" I extend the punch toward her.

She grins as she takes the cup, but my formal tone reminds her that we are in public, and she tones it down quickly.

"Thank you, Professor," she says, her brown eyes sparkling. "I look forward to it."

"Until the last dance, then." I turn to go.

"Thank you for the punch, too, Professor. That was very thoughtful. I was feeling quite parched and needed to put something wet in my mouth."

So cheeky. I promise I will put something wet in her mouth later tonight. "Only too glad to be of service, Miss Granger."

I am halfway back to the punch bowl where Poppy waits with a smug smile, when a booming voice echoes through the Hall. "Grab your dates, wizards and witches! It is time to hold tight to the one you love. Last dance of the evening, Hogwarts."

I turn. Her eyes are blazing into mine, and I almost forget that we are surrounded by students and staff. She walks slowly toward me as the lights dim, and the music starts, with a low, primal beat.

"Professor," she says softly, as her lightly tanned arms reach for my shoulders, and the fabric shifts over her breasts with the movement.

I place my hands on her hips and pull her close. "Too close," she whispers.

Of course. I release her enough to put a respectable distance between us, and move my hands to her lower back. The red velvet feels so sumptuous under my fingers that I long to let them stray and explore the curve of her backside, but must not do so. The music swells, and we begin to move. Her scent, that mixture of lavender and sandalwood I have come to associate with carnal pleasures, reaches my nose and draws me in. I want to slide my tongue up her ivory neck and trace her ear. I want to untie that bow that is now just below and to the right of my chin, and let the fabric fall, exposing the luxurious swell of her breasts. She is much taller in my arms than usual, thanks to those heels: a very good height, actually. I imagine her pressed into a wall, with one slender leg wrapped around my hips. Yes, just right. Then I see her on her back in my bed, those high heels pointed where they belong – at the ceiling.

She sighs softly in my ear, as if she were seeing the same images. I struggle to keep my breathing even. I can't even hear the music, I just feel the beat – slow, deep, penetrating me. I feel it in my bones.

"I have a little something for you after the dance, Severus," she purrs into my ear.

I groan, involuntarily. I cannot wait for her to give it to me. Merlin knows I have something to give her as well – though 'little' is quite the opposite of the way she has described my gift in the past. She sways in my arms, her hips moving from side to side in perfect time with the intoxicating rhythm.

"I am burning for you," I growl softly into her ear, and she shivers under my hands. "I must escort the Slytherins to their dormitory after the dance. Wait for me in the corridor outside their door."

She swallows and nods. The music goes on.

"You look very dashing tonight, Severus," she says quietly.

"I look the same as I look every night, Hermione," I chuckle. "I have taken no special care with my wardrobe this evening."

"I know," she says. "You always look dashing." And still we sway. On and on, she moves beneath my hands, mesmerizing me with the rhythmic swinging of her hips.

When the song slows and fades into silence, we slow our movements as well, to find ourselves standing face to face in each other's arms. Her pupils are wide in her chocolate eyes. The lights come up, and we are both momentarily blinded. When I can see again, I look around the Hall to find the dance floor dotted with couples locked in passionate embraces. She has noticed, too, and chuckles lightly. It is only extreme force of will that has kept us from that same outcome.

"Thank you, Professor," she says, loud enough for the couples nearby to hear her. "And now we both have work to do, do we not?" We break apart, and begin to separate the other couples, dividing them by house, and locating the Prefects who will lead them out.

* * *

**Part five: Poppy**

"At last, they're gone," says Rolanda Hooch, and she pulls an unmarked flask from her pocket. "Ogden's Best: who wants some?"

We remaining staff members – those who are not Headmaster nor Heads of House – are relaxing around one of the circular tables that line the sides of the Hall tonight.

"Nice work, getting Severus to dance," says Aurora Sinistra, and she claps Hermione on the back.

"Actually, he asked me to dance," she says, blushing. "I didn't have anything to do with it. Does he not usually dance?"

"Never," Aurora replies, and laughs. "Of course, we know he sometimes loses his head around you."

"Who wouldn't, the way she looks tonight," adds Rolanda, swaying a bit in her seat. How much has she already had from that flask?

I clear my throat. "Actually, Aurora, it was I who got Severus to dance. I told him I'd watch the punch bowl for him if he'd go ask Hermione for the last dance."

"Well, you cost me five galleons, Poppy." Rolanda giggles as she passes the flask to Septima Vector's outstretched hand.

"Not the flask, Rolanda – the galleons. Pay up!" Septima takes a swig from the flask anyway.

"What's this about?" Hermione is eyeing Rolanda and Septima suspiciously. They giggle as Rolanda hands over five gold coins.

"When I saw you two hit the dance floor, Hermione, I bet Septima five galleons you'd be eating each other's faces before the end of the song. I must say, he showed considerable self-control."

Hermione rises, fists clenched and knuckles white. "Sorry about that, Rolanda. Perhaps you could make up your losses if, next time, I throw him down on the dance floor and shag him rotten right there."

She turns to leave in the moment of shocked silence that follows.

"Awww, come on, love," Rolanda calls after her. "Stay and have a drink with us. We didn't mean anything by it."

Hermione keeps on walking, and I feel awful for creating this situation. I should have known better.

"Damn," says Septima after Hermione exits the Hall. "I didn't know that girl had such a wide sarcastic streak."

"How do you know she was being sarcastic?" Rolanda asks, arching an eyebrow suggestively.

"Oh, leave her alone," I tell them. "She and Severus got enough trouble after Halloween. Can't you let it go?"

"You're the one that got them to dance," says Aurora, petulantly.

"I know," I sigh. "I just thought they needed a bit of fun. They've been working so hard on their research, it's all either of them can talk about anymore."

Filius returns from escorting the Ravenclaws to their tower, and joins us at the table. "Who's got the booze?"

"Here," says Septima, and passes over Rolanda's flask.

He tips his head back and drinks deeply, then wipes his lips with his sleeve. He looks around the group, then leans in conspiratorially. "All right, so who expected more snogging from Severus and Hermione tonight? When I saw them dancing, I got my wand ready in case they'd need another Aguamenti charm."

Raucous laughter.

Oh, Sweet Merlin. Don't these people have anything better to talk about?

* * *

**Part six: Hermione**

My heels click loudly on the stone floor of the dungeon, and the sound echoes off the walls. Why does he want me to meet him outside the Slytherin common room, instead of in his quarters? Or mine? We cannot afford for me to be seen down here at this time of night, since apparently no one has forgotten about our Halloween indiscretion, and my every step sounds like a gunshot in the otherwise silent corridor. I stop, slip off my shoes, and stow them in my beaded bag along with his Valentine's Day present.

Much better. Though the floor is cold under my bare feet, at least I am moving silently. When I reach the Slytherin door, I still feel too exposed. How does he know no one will pop out of there unexpectedly and find me, standing here, with no reasonable alibi for my presence? I retreat several yards, and find a slight alcove. Its shadows provide me with at least a little cover.

A few minutes later, the door opens, and I hold my breath and press myself deeper into the alcove. When I see that it is Severus, I step forward, into the torchlight. He spots me immediately, of course – a sole splash of red in this gray underground world.

Eyes blazing, he strides over to me purposefully, and growls, "What have you done with them?"

"Who?" I came alone, as he had instructed.

"Your shoes, witch! Where are they?"

"I – they're in here, Severus," I stutter, holding up my bag. "I took them off. They were loud..."

"Put them back on," he growls again. "Now!"

"Yes, all right," I say, retrieving them and slipping them back on. "But I really didn't want to get caught-"

"Now dance with me," he says, cutting me off in mid-sentence.

"Here?" And didn't I just hear that he doesn't normally dance? "Wouldn't we be more comfortable in your quarters?"

"Here. Now. I cannot wait another moment to dance with you the way I wanted to dance with you in the Hall." He grabs me tight, pulls me up against him.

"But, Severus, there's no music…" His eyes are wild. I shiver in his arms.

"Listen," he says. "Can't you can hear the echoes of that last song still playing in your mind? I hear them quite clearly in mine. Listen, and move."

He's right, of course. When I close my eyes, I can still hear the strains of the chorus. I hum it quietly to myself, and begin to sway gently to the rhythm again.

His hands are all over me, cupping the curve of my velvet-covered backside, and spreading flat and wide across the bare skin of my back, heating my flesh. He kisses my neck feverishly, moving up to my face as his long fingers tangle in my hair. "Every man and boy in that Hall wanted you tonight," he whispers.

I pull away from him. "I'm sorry, Severus. I wore this dress tonight because I thought you would like it. I wasn't thinking about how anyone else would react – I should have worn something less…provocative."

"No, no, no… the dress is perfect," he purrs in my ear. "Never think about hiding your beauty." He pulls me close again, and we resume our dance. We are so close that with every swing of my hips, my pelvis brushes against his. "They all wanted you, but you are here with me," he whispers again.

"I didn't notice anyone tonight but you, Severus." It's true. The entire evening I could feel his eyes on me. Every step I took was in relation to him: closer or farther away, to his right or his left. And when we danced I was unaware of anyone or anything else in the room – until the lights came up and we were surrounded by snogging teenagers.

The darkness is deeper, as we have moved back into the alcove. I feel the rough stone wall against my back and his pelvis grinds into mine, leaving me no doubt about his desire.

I reach for his face, pulling his lips to mine, and we kiss, deeply, passionately, our mouths and tongues still moving to the rhythm of the last dance of the night, our hips still moving against each other. When I pull away, gasping for air, and raise my face to the ceiling, he kisses down my neck, and his hands go to the strap of my halter dress. He pulls, slowly, and the tension around my neck loosens. Still tracing my jugular with his tongue, he curves his body away from mine just enough to peel my dress top down, baring my breasts. I moan loudly as he cups one breast in his large hand, and I suddenly need skin-to-skin contact, as much of it as possible. I reach in between his arms and begin fumbling with his shirt buttons, until I have opened his shirt to the waist.

Now when he presses against me, I feel his bare chest on mine, and his hand in my hair, and his other hand sliding up under my skirt, caressing my thighs.

"I want you, Hermione," he says, his breath hot in my ear. "Right here. Right now." He has reached my panties and one finger traces deliciously around the lacy lower edge.

"Oh, gods, Severus," I moan. I want him so badly, but… here? In the corridor? Standing up? I've never… "Oh, yes," I cry, as he slides a finger inside me and I shudder with need. He pumps it slowly in and out and I'm so goddamned wet I must be dripping on the floor.

"So wet," he murmurs. "So ready." He removes his fingers and I whimper as he quickly unbuttons his trousers. In a moment he is there, my skirt pushed up around my waist, and my panties pulled roughly to one side, and he kisses me hungrily as he sheathes himself in me in one mighty thrust.

I gasp at the depth of his stroke, the sudden sensation of fullness, and the feeling of the rough, dungeon wall scraping my back. I clutch at him tightly, my fingernails digging into him for traction, as he reaches behind one of my thighs and lifts it. I wrap my leg around his hip and he leans into me.

"MY witch," he growls, as he backs off and then thrusts again, and the sensation is delicious – the heat of him inside me, the cold of the stone behind me, the pain of such deep penetration and the pleasure of the girth of him filling me so completely.

"Yes, Severus, YES," I cry. "Always yours!" And I am grasping and clawing and panting, crying out every time he plunges his shaft so deeply into me.

But then, he freezes, all of his senses alert. "Someone's coming," he whispers.

My gods, it was almost me – I was so close. But then I hear it, too. It's Filch, talking to Mrs. Norris about hearing horny students out of bed.

Severus reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wand. He taps it on my head and then his. I feel an icy sensation rolling down from my scalp as I disappear, and watch him vanish as well. I can't see him, I can't see me, but he starts to move again, more slowly, pushing into me, and my gods, it feels heavenly at this speed. I'm lit from within by a burning flame. I bite back my moan, and then try to stifle my gasp as he pulls out most of the way before sliding back into me.

"Severus," I whisper, "Silencio!" My wand is in my beaded bag. I can't get to it in time. I can hear Filch's footsteps coming closer, his patter to his cat echoing, so that I can't tell how much time we have.

"No," he whispers. "Control yourself."

Control myself? When he is… Oh, god!… filling me, thrusting into me, pumping his cock so deeply into me that all I want to do is scream his name? Control myself?

My gods, what a rhythm – slow, almost punishingly slow – and I am frantic with desire and can't contain myself any longer and then Filch and Mrs. Norris peer around the corner and I can't make a sound. It's everything I can do not to cry his name as Severus pushes slowly into me again, with Filch looking almost right at us.

Severus's hand slides up to my face and covers my mouth, as he pulls out again. When he pushes in this time, it is with the most devilish twist of his hips, and I almost gasp but he presses his hand tightly to my mouth and I think I am going to explode. I can't take much more of this. I wish Filch away fiercely – let anything, anything at all pull him away from here, something new to investigate…

Another thrust with that deadly twist, and I bite Severus's hand hard. Neither of us makes a sound.

Incredibly, Filch turns his head to look behind him. "Did you hear that, my sweet? Something just above us – I think Peeves must be making a mess somewhere. Let's go."

After he leaves, I heave a sigh of relief.

Severus stops for a moment, and I feel another tap on my head, followed by a warm drizzling sensation. With a shimmer, Severus and I reappear, and his fathomless eyes have something new in them, something I can see even in the dim light of the alcove, but can't identify.

"You did that," he hisses into my ear as he moves once more, but more gently than before.

"I don't know what you mean," I whisper. I don't know how far Filch has gone, or how good Mrs. Norris's ears are.

"You made him leave," he says, low and in my ear, pushing into me again. "You don't even know the strength of your own magic."

"I- I wanted him to go," I gasp. "With every fiber of my being, I wanted him to go. But I didn't do anything. I don't even have my wand in my hand."

He strokes my face lightly with the back of his knuckles, his gaze a mixture of passion and awe. "My witch," he says again, but with an entirely different inflection than before. It's tender. Loving.

"Yours," I agree.

He kisses me again, but gently, sweetly.

"You are astonishing, Hermione," he purrs, and I feel his passion rising, carrying me along with him. "You are so powerful – it arouses me tremendously."

And I am lost in the feel of him, his tender kisses along my jawbone, his hands caressing me, his hips meeting mine, until I can't distinguish one sensation from another and my release washes over me, washes over him.

"My witch," he murmurs again, as he collapses into me with a shudder, the wall the only thing keeping us vertical. "My powerful witch."

I can only cling to him. I am beyond speech.

* * *

**Part seven: Severus**

I lead her into my private quarters, and she looks around, enthralled. She hasn't been here before.

"Cognac?" I raise the bottle Harry gave me for my birthday. She nods, still mute.

I pour us each a glass, and we sit in front of the fireplace, on my leather couch.

"A toast," I propose. She raises an eyebrow, but lifts her glass. "To wandless magic," I say, touching my glass lightly to hers, "and to finding out what it is people see in this infernal holiday, after all."

"Oh," she suddenly says, startled back into speech, "I forgot!" She rummages in her small purse, and retrieves a large tome. "Happy Valentine's Day, Severus," she says, and hands it to me.

Whether she had magically reduced the size of the book or enlarged the interior of the bag, I cannot say, but I admire the effect regardless. I should have noticed the trick when she pulled those red shoes out of the bag earlier this evening, but I was… distracted.

I turn the book over in my hands. "Brewing on the Beach: Tropical Plants for the Traveling Potioneer," I read aloud. "I have been wanting this book, Hermione. This is a very thoughtful gift. I have long been intrigued by the great variety of potion ingredients from the tropics."

"You did seem rather interested when I said I planned to go to Bali," she chuckles. "I never did make it. Maybe we could go together, sometime."

I flash again on the image of the two of us walking through a Balinese jungle, through flowering plants, mosses, palm trees, and waterfalls. "Perhaps," I say.

The dancing firelight brings out the deepest tones in her red velvet dress, and supplies an even more radiant glow to her skin and hair.

She is not the first witch to find herself in my quarters, but she is the first witch I would like to have stay the night. I do not know, however, if it would be wise to extend the invitation.

My reaction to her is bewildering. How can I be so drawn to her and at the same moment desire nothing more than to put more space between us? I suppose I love her. I certainly have strong feelings about her, and the enchanted ink identifies them as love. Sometimes I doubt I am even capable of such emotion, however.

She is in turns captivating and infuriating, noble and scheming, inspiring and unnerving. It is these very contradictions that make her irresistible to me. I know I should not encourage her to become comfortable with our arrangement, but I cannot seem to get enough of her. She will, one day, tire of me, and find someone more appropriate to her age and character. Until that day, should I not avail myself of her willing company and its accompanying pleasures?

She appears hypnotized by the flames. I slide closer to her on the couch, and trace her bare shoulder with a finger. She turns to me with a smile, and leans against my chest, still exposed from our tryst in the corridor. She stifles a yawn, attempting to hide it in my shoulder.

"If you like," I say, and my voice comes out thickly, "you may sleep here tonight. With me."

"I'd like that, Severus," she whispers as she slips her hand into mine and I lead the way into my private chambers.

* * *

_A/N: Having too much fun, so drawing it out a bit longer. Still at least two chapters remain. Probably more. :D_

_Oh, p.s. I completed the two online writing courses, but have enrolled in another. Plus my real life is about to get rather crazy. I will do my best to continue to update regularly, regardless. I had hoped to put up a chapter a week, though lately it's been more like every ten days. I promise I'm still working on it._


	16. Chapter 16: Friends and Family

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the characters or setting – those belong to JK Rowling, to whom I am eternally grateful for creating the Potterverse. I'm just taking a couple of her characters out for a spin, but promise to return them, only slightly the worse for wear.

_A/N 1: This story is AU in that Severus Snape did not die. A rather brainy brunette saved him after Nagini's attack in DH. As much as is possible, I'll make this canon-compliant, though I'm ignoring the epilogue._

_A/N 2:__From Felena1971 (co-author and beta-reader) to a particular reviewer, and you know who you are: "Because I'm the big sister, that's why." From IJDTW: "I'm staying out of this one, as it looks ready to turn into a cat-fight."_

_A/N 3: Severus's curse "son of a banshee" was taken from the Potter Puppet Pals youtube video entitled "Wizard Swears." Watch it, if you haven't yet. It's freaking hilarious. _

**Chapter 16: Friends and Family**

* * *

**Part one: Hermione**

Of course, Severus was right that at least one of us needed to make it to the Dining Hall for breakfast, or people would certainly talk – especially after we danced together last night. So although I would have much preferred to stay right where I was, curled up next to him in his bed, I got up instead. After a leisurely and very steamy shower in his quarters, I allowed him to disillusion me so that I could creep back, unnoticed, to my own quarters to change into fresh clothes before meeting him at the staff table.

I feel his eyes upon me as I take my seat.

"Good morning, Severus," I say. "How's my favorite partner today?"

He chokes on his tea, but recovers quickly.

"Your partner?"

"You know – my partner in the lab, my partner on the dance floor…" My partner in the corridor, in your bed, in the shower…

He rolls his eyes. "Don't expect me to partner you on the dance floor frequently, Hermione. It was only at Poppy's insistence that I asked in the first place."

I turn to Poppy, who is concentrating hard on her pastry, trying to pretend she isn't listening to our conversation. "Thank you for suggesting it to him, Poppy. Severus is a very good dancer."

I have caught her with a mouth full of food, so instead of replying, she merely nods.

"You still haven't answered me, Severus," I say, as I add cream and sugar to my coffee. Then I carefully slip a hand under the table, and stroke up his thigh to his groin. "I am trying to find out how you are feeling this morning. Did you sleep well?" He feels quite healthy to me – despite our prolonged shower activities, he responds immediately to my touch. He really is insatiable.

"I had a very comfortable night, Hermione." He does an admirable job of suppressing his reaction. How long can he control himself – he, who forced me to show such control in the corridor last night? "Now, I would appreciate it if you would please get your mind out of my bedroom, and pass me the strawberry jam."

"I'm sorry, Severus. I don't mean to be intrusive." Oh yes, I do. I have undone his fly, and am being quite intrusive, actually. "I'm just trying to be friendly."

"You're too friendly. You should stop being so friendly."

Using my raised coffee cup as cover, I mouth the words to him. _No_, I say. _Control yourself_.

He gives his teacup an almost imperceptible extra lift, subtly toasting me. _Well played_, he mouths back behind his tea, then takes a large gulp and sets the cup down a bit too hard, spilling hot liquid all over his sausage.

Lucky for Severus, the beating of wings announces the morning post, and I need both of my hands above the table to collect my Daily Prophet. In addition to the paper, I have two letters, and Severus has one. Good Godric, can't we even dance together without getting letters about it?

I sigh, and open the first one.

Oh, holy hell. I've forgotten all about my parents' anniversary! I need a gift, and fast – their party is this Friday. Well, at least that letter wasn't anyone commenting on my choice of dance partners last night.

With a grimace, I slit open the other letter. It's from Ginny. I guess the daughter of the Holyhead Harpies' keeper has been gossiping again.

* * *

**Part two: Severus**

"Your parents?" Son of a banshee. I rather conveniently forgot that she had parents. "Please tell me I am not older than your parents!"

We are marching briskly toward Hogsmeade in the chill morning air. The day feels soggy, as though it could rain on us at any moment. As soon as she opened her mail, she leapt from the table and said she had an errand to run in town. I offered to accompany her, so I could speak to the proprietor of Honeydukes about special ordering some high quality chocolate for our Cruciatus potion. Of course, I could have handled the matter via owl post. But I am hoping to discuss the letter I received from Harry this morning. As it turns out, she is far too concerned with the letter she received from her parents to think about anything else.

"Of course you're not, Severus," she says impatiently. "This is their 25th anniversary, and they didn't marry until they had both finished dental school. My mother turned 50 in December, and my father turns 50 in May. You are only 43."

Only 43.

"I gather things have been rather… strained with your parents lately. Would you like me to accompany you to the party?"

"No," she says, but wistfully. "No, I'll manage on my own. I'll just see you the next day at Harry and Ginny's. That was the letter you got, wasn't it? Ginny said Harry was writing to invite you as well."

Yes. That IS the letter I got.

"He did. Has he lost what little sanity he had left to him?"

Still she marches, a grim expression on her face. "What do you mean by that, Severus? You're Harry's friend. Shouldn't he invite you when he has a special event?"

"That, in particular, concerns me. What is this special event? I am supposed to plan to stay overnight for a mysterious event the next day. What, are we having a slumber party, now?"

"I don't know what it is. Ginny just said it was a surprise. Close friends for dinner, and then a little party the next day."

"Close friends for dinner? Will it not just be the four of us?"

"Five for dinner – Luna will be there. Six, actually, counting Kreacher."

"Lovegood?"

"Yes, Lovegood, Severus. How many other people named Luna do we know?"

"Will she be staying the night as well?"

"I don't know, Severus! And why do you care, anyway?"

"I believe she called me sexy, in a dark and brooding way," I tease. "Do you trust her not to pay me a midnight visit?"

Well, that stopped her. She turns to face me, the wind whipping her hair around her face, which for the moment has lost its scowl.

"I wouldn't get my hopes up, if I were you," she says, grinning. "She knows you're with me."

"She WHAT?"

"Well, I was with her at the New Year when I figured out that you were the Mystery Man. In fact, she figured it out before I did, but she let me get there in my own time. When I told her it was you, she said, and I quote: 'Duh.'"

"Who else knows?" Salazar's Shorts – Harry must know. That is why I have been invited – I am being set up on a double date. With Lovegood, naturally, as an odd, misshapen fifth wheel to bump along behind us. Gods, I am too old for this shit.

"Well, Harry, of course."

"Of course." I am ill.

"And although neither of them has said it specifically, I assume that he told Ginny, since they're married."

"Naturally." I roll my eyes. It gets worse and worse.

"And Ron has a pretty good idea, I imagine."

"Weasley?"

"Of course, Weasley! Severus, stop playing dumb."

Such impudence! This witch has gotten too bold. But for the moment, I have too many concerns to want to stop and correct her. "You told your ex-boyfriend that we are… together?"

"No. I told him that I like you, and that I thought you liked me too, but that I didn't know what would happen."

"Now you are the one playing dumb – you knew all along what would happen." She grins helplessly, unable to deny the accusation. "So, Lovegood, Potter, and two Weasleys. Anyone else? Did you, perhaps, send an announcement to the Daily Prophet?"

"Lovely idea, Severus, but no. Let's see… anybody else? Oh, Neville, and Hannah. And… I believe that's it."

"You told Longbottom and Abbot? At least the first four are no longer at Hogwarts. I thought we were trying to keep this quiet until your training program is over!"

"Don't worry, Severus. None of them will say anything to anyone. They're sworn to secrecy."

"Really," I say. "You have more trust in your friends than seems advisable."

"No, no," she says, with a dismissive wave of her hand. "They were all members of the D.A. – they know how to keep a secret. Besides, they all saw what happened to Marietta Edgecombe. I think people are generally too afraid to break their promises to me, now."

I laugh. She is right – I would not want to cross her, either.

She begins walking toward Hogsmeade again, though not quite as quickly. "We ought to get Ginny a hostess gift, while we're shopping," she muses aloud.

I walk silently beside her, trying to determine the precise level of hell to which I have been damned. In less than a week, I will be attending a slumber party populated with several former students, all of whom are less than half my age, and one of whom is my lover, which is apparently common knowledge. And now we will be jointly selecting and purchasing a "hostess gift" to present together to the sister of my lover's ex-boyfriend. Gods, life was so much simpler when I was just a crabby, lonely Potions Master.

* * *

**Part three: Harry**

"Hermione! You made it!"

That's everyone, then. Severus arrived half an hour ago. Luna turned up on the doorstep shortly after lunch ("I didn't want to miss anything!") and has been helping Ginny and Kreacher with the preparations. And now, with Hermione's arrival, everyone is here.

She drops her bags and hugs me, sighing deeply, "I'm SO glad to be here, Harry. You have no idea."

"Tell me, then," I say, leading her into the drawing room. "Severus said you were at your parents' anniversary party."

She looks around. "Where is Severus, anyway?"

"Library. Said he wanted to be left alone until dinner."

She chuckles. "That sounds like him."

"So, visiting your parents? Was it rough?" We sit on the couch, and she sinks into it as if it were a warm bath.

"It was a big party – their 25th anniversary, so all their friends and colleagues were there, and all of my relatives."

"Ugh. Crowds." It sounds awful already.

"The crowd wasn't the problem, just one particular family member. I have a very nosy aunt – my mother's sister, Trudy. She always wants to know when I'm getting married."

"Uh oh."

"Right. For years, now, I've been able to tell her that Ron and I would get married as soon as I was done with school. My family values education, so that was always good enough. But this time, she asked me, right in front of Mum and Dad, if Ron and I had picked a wedding date yet. And I had to tell her that Ron and I had broken up."

"Oh, no," I say, shaking my head. "Let me guess: she immediately tried to set you up with someone."

"Worse. She gave me a big lecture, saying that if I ever wanted to have a 25th wedding anniversary of my own, I'd better stop breaking up with boys who propose to me."

"Crap, Hermione – What did you do?"

"I told her I was just starting to see someone new. I don't know why I said anything. I mean, who says I want to get married at all? And even if I do, it's a bit early for her to be writing me off as a spinster – my mother was two years older than I am now when she got married! It did get her to stop lecturing me, though. She wanted to know all about my new boyfriend."

I laugh, imagining Hermione describing Severus Snape to her meddlesome Muggle aunt. "I'd love to have heard that conversation."

"Obviously, I couldn't get very specific. I just said he was tall, dark, and handsome, and a chemist."

Well, Severus is nothing if not dark. But handsome? Does she really see him that way?

"My mother, naturally, started paying fairly close attention when she overheard that Ron and I had broken up. Later, she pulled me aside, and asked what had happened. We started talking, really talking, for the first time since before the Horcrux hunt. I felt bad for pulling her away from her guests, but happy that she was talking to me again… We talked even more today, which is why I'm late getting here. She's always been my confidante, and I've needed that so badly lately. I confessed that maybe I had never loved Ron the way you need to love someone to marry him, and that maybe all along I loved him more the way one loves a brother. It's so hard to say, of course, because I've never had a brother. But I do know that if I could have had brothers I would want them to be just like you and Ron."

I hug her tightly. "I've never had a brother or a sister, either, Hermione – well, until I married Ginny, I guess, and got five brothers at once. But you and Ron are the people I would have chosen to grow up with, too. Actually, I guess we sort of did grow up together, didn't we?"

She sniffs loudly, and wipes her eyes on her sleeve. "We did. Definitely."

"Well, I'm glad you and your Mum are talking again. You can thank your Aunt Trudy for that, eh?"

She smiles a watery smile, and nods. "You're right. It wasn't an easy conversation, but I'm glad it happened."

"And did you tell your Mum it's Severus you're seeing?"

"Oh, of course," she says, an evil grin now spreading across her face. "That was the first thing I did after she showed me some warmth and compassion. I said, 'Oh, and by the way, I'm sleeping with my previously evil, sadistic, reformed Death Eater former professor who is roughly your age.'"

"Sleeping with? It sounds like a lot has happened since I saw you last month. Not that I want any details!"

"Don't worry, Harry. I won't give you any. But yes, we've been sleeping together for over a month. Well, first it was just Mystery Man, but for weeks now it's been Severus. And things are going quite nicely between us. Except we aren't letting anyone know until after the school year ends, so it doesn't influence Poppy's evaluation of my training."

"Well, I didn't know, and Severus didn't make an announcement, so I put you and Luna in the room you were in at Christmas, and Severus in a room by himself." First it was just Mystery Man? She had sex with an invisible man? Ewww – must not try to imagine that.

"It's not a big deal, Harry – Luna will understand. I'll just bring my bags up to Severus's room instead. I'm sure it'll be fine."

"Great. We'll sort it out after dinner, right? I think it's almost time to eat."

* * *

**Part four: Ginny**

"All right, Luna," I say, "it's all ready now. Kreacher and I will get it onto plates and serve it, if you will go tell everyone it's time to eat."

She claps her hands, and bounces out of the door. A moment later, though, she is back. "Hermione loves you, Ginny," she says. "You don't need to be nervous." And then she's gone again.

Leave it to Luna to cut right through to the heart of things. I am nervous. Hermione has been my best friend forever, it seems, but these past few months have strained our friendship beyond recognition. I hung back at Dominique's Naming Ceremony and watched as she began to patch things up with Ron and the others, unsure yet whether or not I wanted to risk renewing our closeness. But Ron talked to me later and said he was doing all right, and that he hoped I would soften up toward her.

So, here I am, trying to be soft, but I still have hard feelings. I was the one who suggested this party to Harry – I am making the gesture of friendship. But I am still nervous. If I let her back in, and she hurts me again, I'll never be able to trust her with my heart. When she broke up with Ron, she broke up with me. She was supposed to be my sister. Family. Forever. Now that won't ever happen – well, unless one day she marries Charlie. I wonder how those two would get along?

Focus, Ginny. I've got to get myself together.

Muffled voices reach me through the heavy wooden door of the kitchen, and then it swings open, and in they all come, together: Harry leading the way, Hermione and Snape following, and Luna drifting along behind as if she were a silvery balloon, above and apart from the others' conversation.

"Welcome," I say brightly. "I'm so glad you're all here. Tomorrow's lunch will be a bit fancier, and up in the dining room, but I thought the less formal atmosphere of the kitchen table would be right for tonight's more intimate group."

Hermione and Snape are standing too close together, and I suddenly wish I had described our gathering with some other term.

"Please, sit anywhere," says Harry. "This meal is the casual one, with our close friends."

So why isn't Ron here? I invited Hermione, in the hopes that she and I could become comfortable around each other again. And I invited Luna because Hermione and I are both comfortable around her, and maybe she could help us reconnect. And Harry invited Snape because… well, I know they are friends. But I certainly wouldn't say they were close. I think he invited Snape more for Hermione than for himself. No one has given me any details, but both Harry and Ron have told me that there's something going on between Hermione and Snape. I guess that kiss that Calliope's daughter witnessed at the Shrieking Shack was just the beginning. Having Ron here would certainly have made the evening less comfortable for everyone, except perhaps Luna, who never seems to be uncomfortable.

Thankfully, Kreacher was busily getting everything on the table while I was caught up in my own thoughts. He enchants a knife to cut the roast, and a ladle to dish out the soup, and we all take our seats at one end of the long table.

Harry sits at the head, with Hermione on one side of him, and me on the other. Snape takes the seat next to Hermione, and Luna sits next to me.

Hermione digs in her bag and pulls out a bottle of elf-made wine, and hands it to me. "This is from Severus and me, Ginny," she says, "to thank you for this lovely meal, and for inviting us into your home tonight."

"What a thoughtful gift," I say, opening the wine and pouring a glass for everyone.

"Tell us, Hermione," says Luna, "how was your visit with your parents?"

She grimaces. "Some good, some not so good. On the whole, I'm glad I went, though. I wound up having a long and wonderful conversation with my mother, which is why I'm so late getting here."

"That's wonderful," I say. I know how difficult it's been for her these past few years, not having her usual warm relationship with her parents.

"I knew they couldn't hold it against you forever, Hermione," says Luna. "You did it for their own happiness and safety, after all."

Hermione shoots a nervous glance at Snape, who is sitting stiffly beside her. It doesn't look as if she has filled him in on the details of that particular chapter in her history.

Luna notices, too.

"You don't know yet, Professor, what Hermione did to her parents before she went hunting Horcruxes with Harry and Ron?" She looks incredulously at Hermione. "You should tell him, Hermione! He'll be impressed, I know, with your ingenuity and your success with some very complex and advanced magic."

"Yes, Hermione, do tell," he says, smirking. "This sounds quite fascinating."

She slumps in her chair and sighs, then meets his eyes and tells him the tale of how she Obliviated her parents so that they would not remember they had a daughter, and planted the suggestion that they had always wanted to live in Australia.

"After Harry killed Voldemort, I found my parents and reversed the spells. But when they learned what I had done, they were not happy with me at all. I had always been close with my parents before, but for the past several years, they have kept me at a distance. It's been a very difficult time for me. I- I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier. It's not something I'm proud of." Her cheeks burn red.

"But now you said you and your mum are talking again, right?" I'm hoping she'll cheer up. This dinner party has barely even begun and one of my guests is distressed. The one whose friendship I was hoping to rekindle. This is not going as planned. "Surely your dad will come around, too?"

"Yes," she says miserably. "I think he will. He hates being left out of anything."

"Then surely we have cause to celebrate, do we not?" Snape raises his glass of wine. I still hear a bit of a smirk in his voice, as if he is amused at Hermione's distress. What does she see in him?

"Of course we do," says Luna. "Hermione's good news about her mum, Harry and Ginny's surprise for us tomorrow, and – most importantly – a table full of friends tonight." She raises her glass, too.

"Here's to friends," says Harry, raising his glass.

"Hear, hear," says Hermione weakly, raising her glass as well. "It is so nice to be here again. I hope we haven't put you out too much, Ginny."

"To us," I agree, raising my glass. Everyone takes a sip, and I summon the bottle from the counter to refresh Snape's glass, the only one that is near empty already. "And don't worry about putting me out. This party was my idea! Besides, I've got Kreacher to help me, and actually Luna has been a big help today, as well. She helped me make up all the guest rooms."

"We're in the same room we were in at Christmas," Luna tells Hermione happily.

For some reason, Harry suddenly becomes very interested in his soup spoon.

"Actually, Luna," says Hermione, blushing, "I chatted with Harry about that, just before dinner. You won't mind, will you, if we shuffle things around a bit? I was thinking I would take my things up to Severus's room, instead."

Snape freezes, his spoon halfway to his mouth.

"Oh, how exciting," Luna gushes. "So you two are finally sleeping together, then!" She turns to Snape again, whose eyes grow wide with alarm. "Isn't she fun to sleep with, Professor? I just adore Hermione. Do you find that she's just as inquisitive in bed as she is out?"

His spoon still frozen a couple of inches below his chin, Snape's mouth opens and closes a few times, but nothing comes out. I actually feel sorry for him, which is an entirely new experience for me.

Harry's jaw drops open, which is unfortunate, as he had just taken a sip of his wine, which now spills darkly down his chin. So classy, my husband. I hand him my napkin.

Hermione, meanwhile, has gone the color of a rutabaga. "Luna," she chokes out, "that's too personal."

Snape finally finds his voice. "Miss Lovegood, if you enjoy sleeping with Hermione so much, please keep her in your room tonight. I would prefer solitude this evening. My apologies," he says, with a slight bow my direction, "but I seem to have lost my appetite."

He rises from the table, and without another word or a backwards glance, he leaves.

"I'll talk to him," Harry says, and quickly follows his one-time adversary out of the kitchen.

Tears well up in Hermione's eyes, but she blinks them back fiercely.

"I'm sorry," I tell her. It's the truth. Inviting Luna was admittedly a bit of a risk. She means well, but not everyone copes successfully with her brand of honest enthusiasm.

"No, I'm sorry," says Luna. "I didn't mean to frighten him off. I was merely trying to engage him in conversation with a topic I thought he would enjoy."

"I know you didn't mean to, Luna," says Hermione, being far more generous than I would be in her situation. "But Severus is a very private man. He does enjoy sleeping with me, but I can't imagine him talking about it with anyone else."

"Merlin," she says, shaking her head in disbelief. "Some people are so strange."

* * *

**Part five: Severus**

"Severus, wait!"

But I do not want to wait. I want to get out. I have not yet decided if I am disgusted enough to leave Grimmauld Place altogether, or if I just need to be alone again in the library.

He follows me anyway, as I knew he would. Harry cannot help himself if he feels a person needs saving, and I suspect he is about to try to save me.

"Severus," he says, tailing me all the way back to the library, "you can't let Luna get to you – she's just like that. She just says whatever comes into her head, and it's fairly often something completely inappropriate."

"Oh? Has she publicly asked you for details about your wife's level of sexual curiosity?"

"No," he admits, "but Severus – she's definitely embarrassed me in the past, too."

I turn and glare at him imposingly. This is all his fault, after all. I was right about being condemned to hell, and about Lovegood being an odd misshapen wheel. What I hadn't realized was that she would roll me at top speed into the deepest pit of humiliation.

"On New Year's Day, Severus, I found myself in an awkward position, trying to hide an ill-timed hard-on from Luna and Hermione. Luna not only noticed, but called attention to it. Hermione and I were both mortified."

Why? Why in the name Merlin, did Harry have to mention his cock? Yes, yes, I can see that the situation was embarrassing, and that Lovegood once again showed an unimaginable lack of tact. But could he not have come up with some other example to share?

"Am I to understand, then, that you keep her around for the entertainment value?"

"No," he says, sitting down. I sit, too. I suppose for now I will stay. "Luna is a wonderful person, Severus. She authentically rejoices with you when things go your way. She is helpful, creative, brave, and extremely generous. Her honesty can be off-putting, but it is also a gift. She will never be guilty of false flattery. She may have some strange ideas, but she's brilliant, in her own way. She sees connections and possibilities that the rest of us miss because we are too busy thinking about why something won't work. Her friendship is one of a small handful of things in the world that I know are absolutely rock-solid. She just takes some getting used to."

"I have had to get used to a lot of new things, lately," I mutter. I am still getting used to the idea that Hermione and I are a couple, in any sense of the word. I am not ready yet to share our new status with a roomful of dining companions.

"It's all right, Severus. I know Hermione means a lot to you, but that you would rather keep that private."

"You are mistaken. We are merely… taking full advantage of this time we have together until the end of term. Come June, we will be parting company, and I will be returning to my quiet life."

"Cut the crap, Severus. You have fallen for her. She's the best thing that has ever happened to you."

"Insolent whelp! You have no evidence for your ridiculous theories!"

"Bullshit. If Hermione was just a good lay, you would have answered Luna's question with a snarky comeback. The fact that you were upset enough to leave tells me you truly care about her."

"You would do best to shut your mouth before you make a greater fool of yourself, Potter. You cannot know what you are talking about." I rise. "I did not come here to listen to your conjectures about my feelings. I am leaving."

But the idiot boy gets out of his chair and beats me to the door. My hand moves instinctively to my wand pocket, as does his.

"Are you planning to duel your way out of this conversation, Severus?"

"Only if forced," I grumble.

We both relax our postures slightly, though the darting motions of his eyes tell me he is alert for my slightest move. As well he should be. He is in dangerous territory, and he knows it.

"I think I do know what I'm talking about," he says defiantly. "You love Hermione, but you're afraid to admit it, even to yourself. For so many years, everything you did was for my mother. You feel like you're betraying her memory by falling in love with Hermione. Don't you believe my mother would want you to be happy?"

"What I felt or did not feel for your mother is my business – not yours or anybody else's." And then, even though I know it isn't fair to say it, "And do not presume to know what would make your mother happy. I knew her far better than you did."

Harry recoils as if I had physically struck him, and tears spring to his eyes. It was a low blow, I know it. A desperate and craven attempt to get him to back off. I wish I had not said it.

His arms drop to his sides in surrender, but he locks his glistening eyes onto mine and says, "That's true, Severus. I wonder if that is one reason your friendship has felt so important to me. You knew my mother longer and maybe better in some ways than anyone else. You are a link to my past, to who I really am – not The Boy Who Lived, but the son of Lily Potter – a woman I never got a chance to know. I don't know much about her, but I do know that she loved fiercely. Obviously, I can't make any decisions for anyone but myself, but personally, I believe we honor her best by being loving, ourselves."

Damn him – now my eyes are watering as well. I search for a comeback to put him in his place, but in vain. Lily… Images of her flood my mind. "I miss her," I finally croak helplessly.

And suddenly, Harry throws himself at me, clinging to me as intensely as we have both clung to her memory. I pat his shoulder in what I hope is an appropriate response to this foreign contact. At first, he trembles and gasps under my hand, but eventually he brings his breathing back under control, and pulls away. He turns away from me, and wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand.

"I know you do," he says softly. "And actually, Severus, I'd wanted to speak to you privately tonight anyway, for just that reason. I've got something I need to show you."

He walks to the back corner of the library, then turns to face me again.

"It's about tomorrow's special event," he says, his eyes – her eyes – boring into mine. "I want it to be a surprise for everyone else, but – knowing how you felt about my mother – I thought it would be better if it were not a surprise for you. I don't want to spring this on you in front of everyone."

And he grasps something at about shoulder level, something I can't see, and pulls. His invisibility cloak slides off of a large frame.

"I commissioned a portrait of her. Not just her: it's my mum, my dad, Sirius, and Remus."

He turns it around, and I see them. Lily and James, sitting together, hand in hand, smiling at Harry, with Sirius and Remus behind them, arms slung casually over each other's shoulders, grinning broadly.

"Hi," he tells them all. "I'm giving Severus here a preview." He nods toward me. "Dad? Sirius? Remus? Would you guys be able to give Mum a bit of time to talk with Severus? I think he needs it."

"Sure, Son," says James. "Come on, you two. Let's go see where we are and what other portraits we can visit. You okay, Lils?" She nods, her eyes locked with mine.

"I know this room," says Sirius. "This, gentlemen, is the Noble and Ancient House of Black! Want to go pester my mother?"

"You can't," says Harry. "We finally got rid of her. You're going to hang where she was. It'll be much more pleasant for everyone. But yeah, why don't you guys go exploring for a bit?"

The three men wave goodbye to Harry, and Sirius thumbs his nose at me, and they head out of the frame, a sense of adventure evident in their painted eyes.

"I'll leave you two alone, then," Harry says. "Take your time – I'll keep everyone else out of here. There's some firewhiskey in the cabinet, if you want some."

I watch the door close gently behind him.

Then a voice I haven't heard in so long – except in my memories and my dreams – greets me.

"Hi, Sev," she says.

* * *

_A/N: What will Severus and Lily say to each other now that they have a chance? How pissed off is Hermione at Severus leaving the table? Give me another week or so, and you'll find out… _

_Thanks for all your reviews! I'm so excited that this story now has more reviews than my other long fic "Hermione Granger and the Sleepless Nights" even though that one has way more chapters and more than three times as many hits. And over a hundred of you have signed up for story alerts so you find out right away when I post a new chapter! I'm so very very gratified. (Please keep me gratified... it keeps me excited about writing.)  
_


	17. Chapter 17: The Unveiling

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the characters or setting – those belong to JK Rowling, to whom I am eternally grateful for creating the Potterverse. I'm just taking a couple of her characters out for a spin, but promise to return them, only slightly the worse for wear.

_A/N 1: This story is AU in that Severus Snape did not die. A rather brainy brunette saved him after Nagini's attack in DH. As much as is possible, I'll make this canon-compliant, though I'm ignoring the epilogue._

_A/N 2: Many thanks as always to co-author/beta-reader Felena1971 for her much-needed assistance in keeping Snape "Snapey" enough. Thank you, darling, for beta-ing this 9000+ word beast in one evening!  
_

_A/N 3: Felena1971 has a background in law. She thought we should include this warning, particularly for Part Three: **On advice of legal counsel, we feel compelled to suggest that you keep the number of your local cardiologist, pulmonologist and/or really HOT paramedic handy for this chapter.**_

**Chapter 17: The Unveiling**

* * *

**Part one: Severus**

"Hi, Sev."

I turn to face her, and she is luminous – almost as beautiful as she was in life. "Lily," I whisper.

"How are you? It's been a long time, Severus. Harry's a grown man, and you," she teases, eyeing me up and down with her painted eyes, "you got old!"

"How can you bear to look at me, let alone speak to me, after what I did?"

"I don't hate you, Severus. I'm proud of you. When our artist brought us here, Harry spent hours with us, catching us up on his life. Of course Sirius and Remus knew a lot more than James and I did, but we were all interested to hear how the war ended." She stands and walks toward me, toward the plane of the canvas, getting larger as she approaches until she is almost life-sized. She inclines her face toward me, conspiratorially. "I knew you would come through in the end, you know. I always had faith in you."

"How can you say that? I'm the reason you're dead!" If I had never told Voldemort about that prophecy, the living Lily Evans – er, Potter – might be here talking to me, not this two-dimensional imitation – a very poor second, no matter how accurate the representation.

"You didn't mean for it to happen that way, Sev. And when it came down to it, you tried to save us. When that didn't work, you protected Harry, year after year, and helped him survive his fight."

Merlin, how can she be trying to comfort me? Me – of all people!

"I thought I could save you. I thought I could undo the damage I had done when I told the Dark Lord about the prophecy. But between Pettigrew's treachery and Voldemort's penchant for carnage… My failure has haunted me all these years." I bury my face in my hands, grinding at my temples.

"Don't, Sev," she says. "Stop abusing yourself. I'm more grateful to you than you can imagine. From what I hear, you were instrumental in saving the wizarding world, at great personal cost, not to mention saving my son's life numerous times."

"Losing you was the only cost that ever mattered," I say through a constricted throat. It is hard to remember that I am not speaking to Lily herself, but only a portrait. The real Lily will never know of my remorse. She will never be able to forgive me, even if I actually believed I deserved such generosity.

"Severus," she says gently, and I look back into her emerald eyes. "Harry said you needed to talk to me alone."

"He was being presumptuous."

"Why don't you get a glass of that firewhiskey he offered, and conjure up a chair? This might be easier if you are relaxed."

I do as she suggests, and sit as close to the canvas as I can, my knees almost brushing it. She leans against the frame, and watches me as I toss back a shot, a tender expression on her face.

"I think I might know what you want to tell me, and Severus – it's all right. I already know."

"He- he told you about her?"

"Her? No, he didn't!" She laughs. "I thought you wanted to tell me how you felt about me, Severus, and now I hear there's another woman?"

"Do not mock my feelings for you, Lily. I never did tell you, in so many words, but," and I find I am finally able to say the words I could never say to her when she was three-dimensional, "I did love you."

"And now?"

"Now? Now all I have is memories and dreams." Is it the firewhiskey that has emboldened me? Or the obvious brushstrokes on her skin that remind me that she is, sadly, just a portrait? I would never have admitted to the real Lily that she played a role in the subconscious wanderings of my mind. "That's all I ever had, really. You were never mine, Lily. And obviously, you never will be." I pour myself another shot of the firewhiskey.

"I was your friend. I was your best friend, for years, until you joined Voldemort's ranks. I'll never understand why you joined up with those Death Eaters, but I am proud of you for leaving them, joining the Order, and fighting for what you knew in your heart was right."

"In my heart? Do I even have one anymore, after ignoring it for so long? It would have been deadly to allow myself feelings – the Dark Lord would have seen them, known of my allegiances, and killed me on the spot. I spent so many years hiding my emotions from him that I find it is a struggle now to know how I truly feel about anything. Or anyone."

"Ah," she says softly, nodding. "The other woman, again. Why don't you tell me about her?"

Because Lily Evans does not need to know that I am involved with someone the same age as her son. Somehow it smacks of being stuck in my own youth, as if I were some pathetic loser who never got over her. "If Remus and Sirius have been talking," I grudgingly tell her, "and if Harry spent hours with you when you arrived here at Grimmauld Place, then you already know of her."

"She was in the Order as well?"

"Lily. You will think I am a monster." I do not have to tell her anything. I can re-cloak the portrait, leave the library, take the firewhiskey to my room and get utterly pissed, and try to forget this entire exchange.

"I already know the dark places inside you, Severus, and I do not think you are a monster. How can loving someone make you a monster?"

"Loving her? Everyone insists that I love her! You, Harry, the enchanted ink bottle…"

"An enchanted ink bottle says you love this woman?" Her painted eyebrows arch prettily.

"It's a long story, but yes." A story I will NOT be sharing, portrait or no. "And she believes I love her, too."

"But you aren't sure you do?"

"No."

"What is holding you back, Sev?"

"Would you like a list?"

She laughs merrily, one arm wrapping around her slender waist. "Let's just start with the basics, then, shall we? How did you meet her?"

"She walked into my classroom."

"A former student! What year was she? When did she graduate?"

"Lily, for Merlin's sake!" What a prying thing she is!

"Oh, I see. She is quite a bit younger than you. She HAS graduated, hasn't she?"

"My gods, Lily! What do you take me for?"

How do painted eyes sparkle with merriment? The artist has really done a tremendous job.

"I will take that as a 'yes,'" she smirks. "So let's say she is somewhere between 17 and, what, 30? Old enough to be an adult, but young enough that you don't want to discuss her age. Now… What was her House? Have you found yourself a fine Slytherin lass?"

I down another shot and consider the question.

"ARE there any fine Slytherin lasses?"

"Hmmm, not Slytherin, then," she muses, her forehead appearing to wrinkle as she thinks. "A Ravenclaw – an intellectual man like you would need a brilliant witch by his side. Am I right?"

"You are half right. The more I get to know her, the more I am impressed by her brilliance. But no, she is not a Ravenclaw." I chuckle, finding myself amused by this guessing game.

"Then she is a Gryffindor," she announces. "Severus, what is this influence that the women in red have over you?"

"You have skipped a house, Lily. What makes you think she is not a Hufflepuff?"

"I know you, Sev. I just can't see you with a Hufflepuff. It's Gryffindor, I know it. Oh!" She gasps suddenly. "I just figured it out! Severus – you are dating my son's best friend!"

I groan, and run my fingers through my hair in my embarrassment. "It sounds horrible when you put it that way. Does it help that she has always seemed wise beyond her years?"

"Oh, calm down, Severus," she scolds. "She's a grown woman now, and you are still a young man. Merlin, you'll probably live another hundred years or so."

"Do I have to?"

A deep throaty chuckle issues from her painted lips. "I missed you, Severus. When you joined Him, you left me, and I missed you. I've always loved your sense of humor."

"What makes you think I was kidding?" My forefingers and middle fingers are again mashing at my temples.

"Come on, Severus. Tell me more about her. It's not just her age that has you concerned, is it?"

"No, but… It's complicated, Lily."

"What's so complicated? A man, a woman…" Her voice trails off for a moment. Then: "She loves you, too?"

"She may. She thinks she does. But she would do far better to forget about me. And I did notice that you completely ignored the part where I said I am not sure how I feel about her." Why does everyone insist that I love the witch? How can they presume to know my mind better than I?

"If you say so..." The delicately wrought corners of her mouth twitch in amusement. "Well, you could always Obliviate her."

"I don't think I like your cheek, Evans. That's fifty points from Gryffindor." Even though I expect Hermione to leave me, I do not really want her to forget our time together. Suddenly I understand what courage and nobility it took for her to Obliviate her parents, to remove herself from their memories completely. I could not be so strong, even knowing it was best for her.

"No? Then perhaps you don't really want her to forget about you, after all." She reaches out an arm, as if to touch me, but of course she cannot. She settles for stroking the frame. "What do you want to happen? If you could write the story any way you liked, what would you have happen between the two of you?"

I cannot reply. I rise, and begin pacing the library floor in front of the painted Lily, questions chasing each other through my mind. What DO I want? Do I really want her to leave me, and find someone else who can make her happy? Do I want her to do what Lily did? Would I really choose to experience that kind of pain again?

Well, that answers my question for me. If I could write my own ending, then no – I would not have her leave. I would not elect to lose this comfortable intimacy with Hermione in favor of an empty dungeon. I would have her stay and make love and potions with me for all the years I have left. The realization stops me cold. Is this love? I suppose it must be. Perhaps – just perhaps – everyone has been right about me all along, and I do love the girl.

This hypothetical future, of course – the one in which she stays with me brewing potions all day and making love all night – is just a fantasy, and no more likely to come about just because I happen to have actual feelings for the girl. Which then begs the question: do I give up and accept her eventual departure as the inevitability I perceive, or do I (I almost cringe as the words form in my mind) fight for the girl? Is there anything as pathetic as a troglodytic middle-aged man trying desperately to keep a young beauty by his side?

Yes. In fact, there is: the same troglodytic middle-aged man alone in a dungeon because he never tried to keep the girl for his own. Alone, because he pretended he could live without her. Because he never let her know how much he cared.

This was, perhaps, the mistake I made with Lily. Had I been brave enough to tell her in our fifth year, while she still hated Potter, that I did not want only to be her best friend, but her lover as well, could things have turned out differently? Would she have ever noticed Potter, if I had already captivated her with kisses and caresses? If I belonged to her, would I have still felt the pull to belong to the Dark Lord? Had I made my feelings known, had I fought for the girl, everything might have turned out very differently.

I will not make the same mistake twice. I must act. I must try, somehow, to keep Hermione happy with me, in the vain hope that I will be able to call her my witch as long as I have breath.

I decide not to give portrait-Lily the satisfaction of knowing she was right. She always did love to rub my face in it when she cottoned onto something quicker than I did. Therefore, I take a time-honored approach to losing an argument: I change the subject.

"You would like her, Lily," I say as I retake my seat by the canvas and pour another shot. "She is like you in many ways."

She has been watching me with interest – intrigued, I imagine, by my long silence – but she lets the change of topic stand. "I can see a few things we have in common already," she says, her painted eyes twinkling again. "We are both Gryffindors with brilliant minds."

"And you're both modest," I mutter. She laughs out loud, sounding for all the world as if she were a child again.

"You are both Muggle-born, and both have a strong interest in and aptitude for potions. You both fight any perceived injustice, whether it be prejudice against werewolves or the 'enslavement' of house-elves."

"Another Muggle-born! And a champion of the oppressed. Good for you, Severus." She laughs again. "Gods, she's not an auburn-haired beauty with green eyes, is she? That would just be creepy."

"No," I say, attempting to keep a straight face, but a low chuckle rumbles up from somewhere and rolls over me. "She does not resemble you physically. She… she was not a pretty child. But she has grown into a beauty all her own. Deep chocolate eyes, chestnut hair. A neck like a swan's. You will meet her tomorrow, when Harry unveils you to the rest of his friends."

"I can't wait to meet her, Sev. But you have forgotten two of the ways she and I are alike: we both love Harry, and we both love you."

"Lying does not become you, Lily. You never loved me." I toss back my latest shot of firewhiskey, which gives me an excuse not to meet her eyes. The burn as it slides down my throat is perfect. Somehow it dulls the pain of hearing her say – 27 years too late – that she loves me.

"I do love you, Severus. Not in the way you wanted me to when we were sixteen, but I do love you. I care about you, I am proud to know you, I am grateful to you, and I want what's best for you. I want you to be happy, and I want you to know peace."

"Harry told me the same thing, almost word for word, not long ago. 'Don't you believe my mother would want you to be happy?' he asked me."

"Don't you?"

"Why would you? After what I did to you? What I did to others? Lily, I was counted among the ranks of the Death Eaters for decades. I did a lot of unspeakable things. I tortured people. I killed Dumbledore, for Merlin's sake." Damn, my glass is empty again. I pour another shot, and down it in one gulp.

"Oh, my god, Sev. You are not a Death Eater anymore, and you haven't been for ages! You have atoned for those long-ago crimes with incredible heroism. You can't let your guilt about the past keep you from accepting her love, any more than you can let your history of hiding your emotions keep you from returning it."

"Why not? It is a valid concern. She is so… good. And kind, and generous, and friendly… She is everything I am not. There is no way she would be happy with me long-term." But I will fight this battle, this lost cause. Because the alternative is too grim to bear. I will not admit defeat. Not yet. I must not just love her, but show her that I love her. I must not just love her, but allow myself to be loved by her. I must no longer push her away because I am not good enough for her. Instead, I must endeavor with all of my being to be worthy of her love.

Lily sits again, on the love seat she will share with her portrait-husband for eternity, at least while he is not off Marauding through other portraits with his old school chums. She rests her elbow on the arm of the seat, and cups her chin in her palm thoughtfully. "She is happy with you now, I take it."

"Yes. I believe she is, for the time being."

"Tell me why," she insists. "You've told me all the reasons it won't work. Now tell me why it IS working."

"She has recently completed her Healer studies at St. Mungo's, but she is studying with me now to get special training in Dark Arts Damage Reversal. We work well together, finding answers better together than either of us would alone."

"Good, good. It's important that you are interested in the same things," she says. "Does she get your sardonic humor?"

I laugh, remembering Hermione suggesting my disrespectful students prepare dragon dung samples during detention. "She appreciates my humor and can match it. She can be sarcastic and scathing when the moment calls for it."

"Wonderful," she says. "You have such a dry wit that most girls miss it entirely. Is she a match for you magically? Is she a powerful witch?"

"She is not yet a match for me magically, but she is growing into her powers." I am suddenly whisked back in time to the corridor outside the Slytherin common room, and my cock hardens instantly as I remember the magic pulsing through her. "Just last weekend she performed wandless magic for the first time, without even consciously trying to do it."

"Mmmm," she murmurs. "She does sound as though she could one day be your equal, Severus, and that is saying something. Can she duel?"

"I- I have never dueled her. I would not know. I suspect she has some skills, as your own son trained her in his secret Dark Arts Defense club. He did tell you about that, did he not?"

"He did," she beams. "But Severus, you should duel her. It's the best foreplay."

I feel my face flood with heat. "I do not need tips on erotic play from a portrait, thank you very much."

"Apparently you do, Severus, or you would have been dueling her for fun ages ago. And while we're on the topic… Are you sleeping with her? Are you sexually compatible?"

"Lily! I don't want to discuss that with you!"

"Oh come on, Sev. If you can't talk about sex to a portrait of your dead best friend, who can you talk to?"

"You're rather blasé about being dead, Lily. Must you crack jokes about it?"

"For heaven's sake, Severus. I have to have a sense of humor about things, being married to a Marauder. And now I'm in this portrait with three of them forever. Trust me, I am not the first of us to have joked about our status. Now… stop changing the subject. Is the sex hot? Give me some juicy details, please. Portrait sex is rather dry."

"Good lord, woman! You discovered that rather quickly, I think. How long has this portrait been finished, anyway?" She is laughing so hard at my shock that she almost rolls off the love seat. "And no, I will not give you details. You are the second woman tonight who has wanted intimate information about my sexual relationship with Hermione. What is it with you lecherous females?"

She pushes herself back up, and leers at me. "It's probably just that we're curious about how you are in the sack, Sev. There's a sexual mystique about you. You are so intense in everything you do that we imagine you must be a very passionate lover. It would take a strong woman to be a match for you, in my estimation. Can she take everything you give her? Can she dish it out, too?" Her painted breasts rise and fall more noticeably in her blue dress.

I begin to feel warm in my robes. Damn her, she keeps making me blush with her personal questions and pointed observations. "Since when have I had a sexual mystique?"

"Avoiding the question still…"

"Yes, damn it! We're incredible together. We're explosive. We burn each other up and still come back for more. Happy?"

"Very," she smiles broadly. "Aren't you?"

"I'm never happy, Lily. You know that."

"You ought to let yourself try it."

"Hermione has told me the very same thing. 'Taste the chocolates, enjoy the hayrides, fall in love,' she advised me. She's quite angry at me, actually, for not enjoying life."

"Goodness – she's angry about it? That seems a bit extreme," she giggles. "I could see concerned, disappointed… but angry? Who died and made her boss of how you feel?"

"Hmph. Funny you should ask. I suppose it is relevant to this discussion."

"You're holding out on me? You have left out critical information? Divulge, Sev. I'm waiting."

"She… I guess Harry left this part out of his narrative. Maybe the details of how it happened aren't important to him, but to me, of course, they're everything."

Lily taps her fingers impatiently on the portrait frame.

"The Dark Lord wanted me out of the way. He had his snake do the job for him, and left me for dead. I was slipping into darkness when Hermione saved me. At the time, her healing skills were rudimentary, but effective enough. She stanched the bleeding, and stabilized me until qualified care could arrive. She had no reason to save me, Lily. I was a teacher she had hated, a teacher who had treated her cruelly. I was the man who had killed Dumbledore. She had been tortured into unconsciousness at the hands of my old Death Eater companions. I was the enemy. And yet she begged me not to die, not to leave her. I can still hear her sobs, feel her tender hands on me, as if it was just last night. She should have let me die, Lily. But she saved my life, which she has on occasion accused me of not living fully."

Lily's pretty mouth hangs open in a large, comical "O." Finally, she closes it, swallows, and croaks, "Marry her, Severus. As soon as possible. Go – right now, and propose to her."

Now my mouth hangs open in a ridiculous imitation of her expression of a moment ago. I do not know what I expected Lily to say, but that was not it.

"Sev, this girl showed you unconditional love. You have found in her a treasure. I hear all your doubts. I hear that you feel guilty for still being alive when so many people – people you think are more deserving than you – died. But Severus – stop it. You cannot bring anyone back but yourself. You were given this second chance at life – don't waste it. Use it to the fullest: you honor those who fell by living and living well, not by making a mockery out of life by avoiding love and joy."

I am silent.

"I mean it, Severus – go to her. Now."

"He doesn't have to."

I turn my head back to the doorway, and – incredibly – she is there. Hermione. A vision in her lavender silk gown, her hair framing her face, illuminated from behind by the torch in the hallway, as if she wore a halo.

* * *

**Part two: Hermione**

He rises slowly, as if in a trance, and approaches me with a strange fire in his eyes.

"How long have you been standing here?" He takes both my hands, and pulls me gently into the room.

"I just got here – I heard her telling you to live your life. Is that… is it who I think it is?"

He draws me up against his chest and whispers into my ear, "Come, Hermione. I want you to meet someone."

We walk hand in hand across the room to the portrait, where a beautiful woman with dark red hair beams up at me with eyes that look just like Harry's.

"Hello, Hermione," she says.

"Mrs. Potter," I breathe. I've seen pictures of her in Harry's photo album.

"Please," she chuckles, "just call me Lily. It's so nice to meet you, dear, after hearing so many wonderful things about you from Harry and Severus. Oh, and Remus and Sirius are quite taken with you, too."

"Thank you, Mrs.- I mean, Lily," I correct myself. "I have heard quite a bit about you, as well." She raises her eyebrow at me, and I rush to add, "All good, of course!"

"Naturally," she smirks. "Severus, you were absolutely right, of course. She is stunning."

I goggle at him, but he looks at the floor, suddenly interested in the Persian rug.

"Now, Hermione," she says in a very serious voice, "I need to ask you something."

Severus looks up, alarmed. "Lily," he gasps, "you wouldn't!"

For a moment, Lily looks utterly bewildered. Then something clicks into place and she is suddenly howling with laughter. "Oh my gods, Severus! Not that, not that!" She wipes her eyes, but little painted teardrops have already rolled down her cheeks. "No," she says, gasping for breath, "I'll let you keep your mystique for now, I promise."

"What on earth…?" I don't understand what is going on.

"Severus thought I was going to ask you if he's any good in bed," she says, still chuckling. "But really, dear, I don't know you well enough to ask such an impertinent question."

I round on him. "You told her we're sleeping together?" Harry's mother – my best friend's mother – knows I'm sleeping with her old friend, who used to fancy her. My head hurts. I rub my temples with the heels of my hands.

He somehow manages to look both sheepish and amused at the same time, with his ebony eyes sparkling and the corners of his mouth twitching.

"She beat it out of me," he says, and she grins from her frame.

"Of course she did," I say, crossing my arms and glaring at him. "Portraits can get so violent."

"Dear me, Severus, you weren't lying. She can indeed be sarcastic and scathing."

I can only look, wide-eyed, from one of them to the other.

"Don't worry, dear," she adds kindly, "we mean that in a good way. Sarcasm is one of Severus's favorite art forms. Potion-making, of course, is another – and I hear you have a knack for that as well."

"I hear you were an excellent Potions student yourself, Mrs. Pot- I mean, Lily. Professor Slughorn spoke very highly of you."

"Horace Slughorn! An excellent teacher, and he did throw good parties." She sighs wistfully. "Oh, Hogwarts was so much fun. I wouldn't mind being hung in one of the corridors there, you know."

"Harry has a fair bit of pull with the current Headmistress, I believe," I laugh. "I bet he could manage it, if you ask him."

"You're right! I will have to mention it to him. But look how you both have gotten me distracted from what I wanted to ask you ages ago!"

"That's right," I say. "You did have a question for me."

Severus eyes her suspiciously, but this time keeps quiet.

"Not so much a question, dear, as a favor."

"A favor? What kind of favor could I possibly do for you?"

"Hermione," she says, all seriousness now, "Severus is a very old and dear friend of mine."

"Yes, ma'am," I say, nodding. "I know. Harry told me you were friends from the time you were children."

"His happiness is very important to me. He has suffered greatly over the years, and I don't want him to suffer anymore."

"Yes," I tell her. "I feel the same way." Why is she telling me this?

"I'm so relieved to hear you say so," she says. "Because what I wanted to ask you was this: please take care of Severus. Don't hurt him. If you do, you'll have me to answer to… and you know how violent we portraits can become."

I laugh, and give her my word.

"Like mother, like son," Severus says, shaking his head.

Lily beats me to the question, asking, "What do you mean, Sev?"

"Just that Harry asked me almost the exact same favor."

"Oh?" I raise an eyebrow at him. "When did he do this?"

"Actually, it was in two parts," he says. "The first letter I received from him after Halloween told me, between thinly veiled threats, that I had better not hurt you. And when he visited for my birthday last month, he asked me to look after you."

Lily laughs again. She is full of life, even after death… though I suppose that really doesn't make much sense. "It's settled then," she says. "You will both take care of each other, and not hurt each other, right?"

Severus's eyes meet mine, and we both nod. Then he puts his arms around me, and kisses me so deeply it makes me dizzy. I feel like I am falling, saved only by his strong arms around my waist.

"Well," I hear Lily's voice saying, as if from a distance, "it looks like my work here is done."

Severus lifts his head, and I gasp for breath.

"Lily," he says, "Your husband must be lost. Why don't you go look for him?"

"Point taken, Severus," she agrees, and winks broadly at him. "Hermione, it was lovely to meet you, but I think I'd better go find my husband. Sirius is looking to get into trouble, and Remus was always pants at keeping them under control."

"They're all here with you?"

"Oh yes," she replies airily, "You don't think I have this luxurious frame all to myself, do you?" She gestures at the gilt edges of her world.

"Then this – this is the portrait Harry commissioned from Dean! Oh, it's done already! How wonderful!"

"It will be officially unveiled tomorrow, Hermione," Severus tells me. "I am giving you an unauthorized preview."

"Severus's preview, on the other hand, was fully authorized," Lily informs me. "Harry thought he needed to talk to me about something important."

I gaze inquiringly into Severus's glittering eyes.

"You," he says, simply.

"Goodnight, you two," Lily says, a giggle in her voice. "I'll be gone for ages, I expect. You'll have the library all to yourselves…" And she disappears out of the frame, a knowing smile on her lips.

Severus sits on the chair in front of the now empty canvas, and pulls me down onto his lap, brushing my hair back from my neck and kissing me right beneath my ear. "Please tell me you have brought your things up to my room," he whispers.

"I- I'm in Luna's room," I stammer. "I thought you wanted s-solitude." It's hard to speak when he is circling my ear with his tongue.

"But you came looking for me." His breath is hot in my ear and his fingers tangle in my hair.

"I couldn't sleep. I hoped you would still be awake, but when I went to your room, you weren't in it. I- I thought maybe you had come down for a bite to eat, since you didn't get much dinner. But on my way down to the kitchen I heard voices in here, and I found you."

"Come to my room," he murmurs, his lips ghosting over my eyelids, "I want you in my bed tonight."

If I were wearing knickers, they'd be soaked by now. His silky voice always gets me hot and bothered. But I can't cave in this quickly. I understand that he was embarrassed by Luna's overly personal questions, but he did hurt my feelings tonight at dinner.

"Severus," I gasp, fighting to keep on track as he strokes down my bare arm with the back of his hand. "You… you can't keep doing this to me. You go hot and cold on me so fast I can't keep up."

"Let me make it up to you," he says, now brushing his lips across my collarbone.

"You don't need – ahhh – to make it up to me, Severus." His palm slides down my ribs, and I quiver under his touch. "Just don't… don't do it anymore."

"No more hot and cold," he agrees, pulling one strap down off of my shoulder and kissing the spot he has just uncovered. "Hot, all the time."

"Yes," I pant. "Hot, all the time. You promise?"

He lowers the other strap, and exposes one breast. "I promise," he says, kissing it gently.

"Severus… the portrait…"

"What about the portrait," he says, his teeth grazing my nipple.

I am going out of my mind – he is teasing my every nerve ending, making me faint with pleasure. But at the same moment, we are mere inches from this giant canvas, which could, at any instant, contain not just Lily, but James Potter, Sirius Black, and my old Defense professor, Remus Lupin. "I- I don't think…"

"Spit it out, witch," he growls, and I gasp at the loss of contact as he lifts his face from my breast.

"I can't do this here," I whisper. "They'll be back, and…"

"Then we will go," he says, and he thrusts me from his lap onto my feet and stands abruptly. He grabs my hand and starts pulling me toward the upper floors as I readjust my gown.

"Wait," I say, pulling him in the opposite direction, downstairs, instead of up. "I have an idea."

"What now?"

* * *

**Part three: Severus**

She leads me down to the kitchen, and begins bustling around in the dim light of the dying fire, collecting food, silverware, a basket.

"What in the name of Salazar Slytherin are you doing, witch?"

"What does it look like? I'm packing us a picnic to bring upstairs, Severus."

"I can think of far better ways you can expend this energy," I say, grabbing hold of her hips from behind. All I can think about is finishing what I started in the library.

"Energy management is precisely my goal," she says, pawing through the pantry. "You did leave dinner quite early, and truth be told I rather lost my appetite, too, after you left. But I have the distinct impression we may be glad for an energy-packed snack in an hour or two." She gives me an evil grin over her shoulder as she reaches into the icebox and digs through the items on the bottom shelf. "I know that look on your face," she says, "and I don't think either of us will be getting much sleep tonight."

"Hermione," I say, now taking her by the shoulder and spinning her to face me, "I am only hungry for one thing right now, and it is not something in the icebox."

I pin her against the counter, and kiss her again, causing her to drop a wedge of gouda cheese she was about to add to the basket. Her silky gown glides smoothly under my hands as I slide them down her form and stroke over her full hips. I want nothing more than to bury myself in her. She moans when I press against her, leaving her no doubt about my intentions, and the sound stokes the flame of my desire to greater heights.

"Severus," she gasps, as I slip her gown up over her hips, and lift her to the countertop, "what's gotten into you?"

"Hot," I murmur against her neck, spreading her knees, one hand moving to her thigh while the other seeks the heat I feel emanating from her core, "hot, all the time." Oh yes, hot. And so wet. She moves against my fingers, rocking her hips on the counter, and when my thumb brushes over her nub she shudders and groans into my hair.

"Oh gods, yes," she cries, clawing at my clothes. She is too far gone to be able to manage my buttons effectively, which pleases me. I am pushing her slowly toward the brink, my thumb now circling her clit and my fingers sliding in and out of her tight heat, maintaining a rhythm that is just slightly slower than she wants. "Severus, now, please," she gasps, "I want you… want you inside me, now." She'll have me, but not yet.

"Tell me what you want," I say, my voice low, and right in her ear. She squirms quite satisfactorily every time I do that, so I do it as often as I can.

"You," she breathes, "Severus, I want you."

"More specific," I growl in her ear. I want to hear the words. She is getting more frantic, as I keep her right on the edge, but not yet allowing her to crest.

"Dear gods, Severus! I want your cock, your magnificent thick cock, inside me."

Yes, that is exactly what I wanted to hear. "Good girl," I tell her. "What else?"

"I want every goddamned inch of you, Severus. I want you to lay me on that table and fuck me as hard as you can until you explode inside me."

The table, eh? "Then wrap your legs around me and hold on tight." She willingly obeys. I wrap my free arm around her waist, and slide her off the counter. She is just a slip of a girl, and I carry her easily to the table, and set her carefully on the very edge.

She grabs hold of my hips and makes to scoot backward, more fully on the table, and take me with her. "Not just yet," I say. "I did say I was hungry, did I not?"

I drop to my knees before her, and spread her open as before. Now my tongue can join my fingers, and she claws her fingers into my hair and yelps when I make contact. Within moments she is convulsing around my fingers, and crying my name to the ceiling.

I rise, chuckling. "Next time, a little louder," I tell her. "I am not sure they heard you in Bristol."

"Your wand, Severus," she gasps.

"Yes, I am unsheathing it now," I tease, unbuttoning my trousers.

"Mine is upstairs, cast Muffliato or something!" No, I think not. The entire household already knows about us, so let her cries rise up through the rafters.

"Let them hear," I say, as I enter her wet, ready passage in one thrust.

"Fuck!" she yelps, "Yes, yes, yes, Severus – that's what I need…" She croons my name, grasping my shoulders, and rocking her hips again as I begin to move.

"Lie back on the table, Hermione," I say, attempting to peel her fingers from my shirt.

"No," she pants. "I want to touch you."

"Trust me. Let me take care of everything."

Slowly, she releases me, and leans back onto her elbows, still watching me with half-lidded eyes.

"All the way, Hermione," I tell her. "There's a good girl…" She lies spread out before me, her hair a mass of brown curls surrounding her head; her eyes closed, lips parted, and breasts heaving under the lavender silk gown.

"As hard as I can, you said?" I grasp her hips, and draw her toward me.

"Gods, yes," she moans, "until neither of us can take it any more."

I start slowly, and she draws one knee up to increase the depth of my penetration. I can give her even more of what she wants, so I grasp her ankle and lift one of her legs over my shoulder.

"Yes, Severus," she cries. "That feels so good!"

An understatement if I ever heard one. I am trying not to pound her too hard, regardless of what she said earlier – I do not want to hurt her. But she feels so perfect, her wet heat wrapped tightly around my cock, that I am not sure I can control myself.

"Harder, Severus," she says, panting in time with my thrusts. "I can take it. I want it. Give it to me, Severus, now!"

Her words incite me to rougher action, though I am still wary of pounding her too hard. She responds beautifully, though, crying out, becoming increasingly incoherent. Soon I am caught up in her passion and I am no longer holding back, but hammering into her with everything I've got. I lose myself in the rhythm and the effort, I cannot feel anything except my cock inside her, the sensations completely overwhelming all thought.

And then, something changes – her cries had been creeping up through an octave and a half, but suddenly drop to a growl. "NOW," she grinds out through gritted teeth, and her inner walls clamp down on me, milking me, and I follow her over the precipice with a roar, spilling my seed deep inside her. My knees are weak, and I collapse on top of her, gasping for breath.

* * *

**Part four: Hermione**

"You really told Lily I was stunning?"

We are up in his bedroom, where we made love again, more tenderly (and more quietly) than in the kitchen. Now that our physical passions have been sated – at least for the moment – my mind is free to review my encounter with Severus's former love interest. She was so beautiful: I feel very plain in comparison.

"Her word, not mine," he says into my hair from his position spooned behind me on the bed. I pout a little, knowing he can't see it. I know I am not conventionally pretty, but I had been enjoying the idea that he might somehow have really seen me as stunning. "I told her you had grown into a beauty all your own," he continues, "and that you had a neck like a swan's."

"Like a swan! Is that why you got me a swan feather quill?"

"In part," he says, kissing me on my swan-like neck.

"What other reason?" I snuggle deeper into his arms.

"When you ice skate, you are as graceful as a swan."

"You were watching! Why didn't you join us?"

"You have known me for over a decade. Certainly, as observant a witch as you are, you have noticed by now that I am not much for crowds? The Valentine's Dance, tonight's dinner party – social events like these are about as much of humanity as I can take."

"Actually," I say, working hard to keep the giggle out of my voice, "I sort of thought crowds turned you on."

"Perhaps you have been having too much sex. It has apparently addled your brain."

"No, really! Look at the evidence, Severus. After the Valentine's Dance, you couldn't even wait to get to your quarters. The moment you were free of your Head of House duties, you took me right there in the corridor, and then again once we made it to your bed. And tonight, you couldn't wait long enough to get to your bedroom, either. You would have taken me in the library, did take me on the kitchen table, and then again once you apparated us up here."

His laugh rocks my whole body.

"I can see how the evidence could be misleading, but you must know that I cannot stand most people. You are a notable exception. At both of those events, all I wanted was to be alone with you, and by the time the events were over, my anticipation had been building so long I could wait no longer."

"Hmmm," I say, pretending to ponder this news. "I shall have to get us invited to more dinner parties then. They might make you uncomfortable for a little while, but the payoff is completely worth it."

"Naughty minx! Keep up this behavior and I just may have to spank you!" He gives me a little swat.

"You love it when I am naughty, Severus."

"It amuses me when you show this side of yourself – the side that knows what she wants and does what is necessary to get it. I still maintain that you'd have made a good Slytherin."

"And I still maintain that he wouldn't have taken me in his house, so it's rather a moot point."

He brushes my hair back from my face, and says, mouth right over my ear, "Salazar Slytherin be damned. Despite your heritage, you would indeed have made a good Slytherin. What you did to protect your parents – that was pure Slytherin genius."

"Severus, don't say that," I protest, tears springing to my eyes, making me glad again that I am facing away from him. "I still feel awful about what I did, and you calling it Slytherin genius is not helping."

He whispers into my ear, "While it took Slytherin cunning to come up with the plan, it took Gryffindor courage to execute it. You exhibited strengths of both our houses."

Shocked that he would ever allow that Gryffindors have any positive traits, I roll to face him. Bet he can't look me in the eye and compliment my house… "You told me at Halloween that all my faults were Gryffindor, and all my strengths were Slytherin!"

"The mark of a truly mature wizard is the capacity to change one's mind when presented with compelling new evidence. I know you much better now than I did then."

"Severus Snape," I say, kissing him soundly, "that is the closest I believe I have ever come to hearing you admit you were wrong about something."

"On the contrary. I have been wrong about a great many things in my life." He lifts his forearm, showing me the fading but still visible dark mark. "I still wear evidence of one of my most spectacular mistakes. That Harry has to visit a portrait to interact with his parents is due to another of my famous errors of judgment."

I kiss his forearm, then his lips. "Winston Churchill, the Muggle Prime Minister during the time that Dumbledore was fighting Grindelwald, once said that 'all men make mistakes, but only wise men learn from their mistakes.' You strike me as a wise man, Severus."

He pulls me closer. "A wise man would never let you go," he says softly.

"And you?" I am breathless, anticipating his reply. Is he saying what I think he is saying? Is he reconsidering his ridiculous insistence that we part company in June? The moment stretches out horribly.

"Severus Snape is no fool," he murmurs, at last.

I cannot suppress an enormous grin, so I hide it under the guise of kissing his chest.

* * *

**Part five: Luna**

I bounce through the kitchen door to find Ginny pushing a cup of coffee into Harry's hands. He takes a sip, sets the cup on the table, and rubs his eyes with his fists. Then he eyes me suspiciously. "What do you look so chipper about?"

"Why shouldn't I be chipper?"

"Don't tell us you slept through all that," Ginny asks, yawning. She sits next to Harry. Kreacher has the breakfast preparations well in hand.

"They were a bit noisy," I agree. "But I'm glad they patched things up, aren't you?"

They both make indistinct noises that don't really sound all that glad. Well, I am glad, anyway. Hermione isn't nearly as fun a roommate when she keeps sighing and tossing in her bed. She went for a little walk around midnight, I think, and never came back. The banging and thumping, moaning and groaning, yelping and cursing that started up an hour or so later let me know all was well. Once they got started, I was able to fall asleep with an unworried mind.

Nobody seems to want to talk much at breakfast. That's fine. I hum a little bit and eat my eggs, bacon, and toast. Kreacher is a really good cook.

Just about the time we are finishing up, Hermione and Severus push through the door and join the party. She has an unmistakable just-fucked glow, and he hovers very near her, almost – but not quite – touching her.

Kreacher scurries as quickly as his bandy little legs will carry him back to the stove, and starts cooking for two more.

"Thank you, Kreacher," Hermione says, beaming at him. "I'm ravenous!"

The old house elf adds two more eggs and a half-dozen more slices of bacon to the stovetop.

"You must be hungry, too, Professor," I say, "It sounded like you two must have worked up quite an appetite last night."

Ginny snorts and buries her head in her hands. Harry shoots a worried glance at Severus and Hermione.

"Yes, Miss Lovegood," says Severus, in his usual silky tones, "breakfast is the most important meal of the day, I am told, and never more so than after a long night of carnal pleasure."

Harry spits his coffee – he is a very messy drinker! – and Ginny shakes her head as she once again hands him her napkin.

Hermione bursts out laughing. "I cannot believe you just said that, Severus Snape," she says.

"You are impossible to please, Hermione. Last night I upset you when I tried to protect my privacy. This morning you are upset when I sacrifice it in favor of polite conversation with your friend."

"Not that," she giggles. "You can talk about sex with Luna as much as you like, so long as we keep it quiet at school until June, as we agreed." She flashes me a brilliant smile, and I return it. "But I can't believe you just quoted me about the importance of breakfast!"

He chuckles, and spears a bit of egg off her plate, having already devoured his.

"I disagree with you, Professor," I say. They all look at me in horror.

"You do not agree that breakfast is important, Miss Lovegood?" He quirks an eyebrow upward, waiting to hear my opinion about food, I suppose. "You will have to take that up with Hermione. It is she I was quoting, as she has just said. Or do you perhaps not agree that it is even more important after an energetic session of sexual intercourse?"

Ginny, Harry, and even Hermione – who DID just say he could talk about sex with me, didn't she? – are all flushed quite red.

"Actually, Professor, I agree with you on both of those counts. Where I disagree with you is when you said that Hermione is impossible to please. It rather sounded like you have quite a talent for satisfying her."

Professor Snape actually laughs, and he is much more handsome when he does. Hermione has gone utterly crimson, but is laughing as well.

"Severus is a man of many talents, Luna," she agrees. "But if I could change the subject…"

"Please," beg Ginny and Harry simultaneously.

"May I ask who will be here today, and what time they will be arriving? Didn't you say the party would be around lunchtime?" She glances at her watch. It is late morning.

"Yeah, sure," says Harry. "I think we can tell you that without giving away too much."

"Well," says Ginny, ticking off on her fingers, "all of my family is coming, except Bill and Fleur and the girls, and Charlie. So that's seven, with Angelina and Audrey."

"And we've invited some of our old classmates from school," adds Harry. "Neville and Hannah, Dean, Seamus, and Lee. And also some people from the Order, Severus, so it won't be all just your old students. Kingsley is coming, McGonagall, Hagrid, Hestia Jones… I invited Aberforth and Dung, but I don't expect them to make it."

"That makes 16 plus the five of us, so 21 for lunch, Kreacher. Actually, let's call it 25, as Hagrid is such a big eater."

"Let's call it 24, Ginny," says Hermione, with a significant look at Severus. "Severus isn't really one for parties, and… well, Harry already gave him a preview of your surprise. Severus, if you would be more comfortable skipping this event, we could make an excuse for you."

Severus checks with Harry, who nods.

"Yes, I do believe I have a potion in a delicate stage of production," Severus says, rising from the table. "I shall return to Hogwarts immediately."

Hermione rises as well and wraps her arms around his neck. "I'll floo to your quarters as soon as the party is over, all right?"

He puts one hand behind the small of her back, twines the fingers of his other hand into her hair, and leans her back into a sizzling kiss. When he stands her back up and releases her, she is panting and her eyes are slightly out of focus. "You do that," he says. She nods mutely and slumps into the nearest chair.

"Accio cloak," he says. When his traveling cloak comes soaring toward him a few seconds later, he catches it deftly, draws a handful of floo powder with a fluid motion, tosses it into the fire, and steps in. He turns back to the kitchen and smirks broadly before naming his destination and whirling out of sight.

"Damn, Hermione," Harry says, patting her gently on the shoulder, "I can see what you mean."

She looks up at him, and croaks, "Pardon?"

"You told me at Christmas that Severus was a good kisser. Now I see what you mean."

Great Galloping Graphorns, I see what she means, too. I think I might have been holding my breath while he kissed her, and my own knees are a bit weak as well.

I take the chair next to Hermione and wipe a bit of sweat from my forehead, as I look around the kitchen. Hermione still seems a bit dazed. Harry, a bit awestruck. I think he might have a new hero. Ginny, however, looks as disgusted as if she had caught a strong whiff of mountain troll.

* * *

_A/N: Sorry this took so long – it's been crazy around here! In the past 4 days alone I have celebrated my 10 yr anniversary, read all of Breaking Dawn, worked several hours, and gone to a Harry and the Potters show (the Unlimited Enthusiasm Expo – yay!). But in between, I managed to get this done and beta'ed and posted. Now… to catch up on my online writing course! I'm a week behind._

_It was a challenge to write Dead!Lily, and I hope I managed to pull it off. Severus needed to get some closure with her before he could move on, I think. It was also a challenge to write Severus in this chapter – it's hard to stay snarky and sarcastic when you're finally starting to come to terms with being in love. Admittedly, he's not PURE Sev here, but hopefully he remains enough in character – at least in character for this fic – to keep you, er…, satisfied._


	18. Chapter 18: Potions and Possibilities

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the characters or setting – those belong to JK Rowling, to whom I am eternally grateful for creating the Potterverse. I'm just taking a couple of her characters out for a spin, but promise to return them, only slightly the worse for wear.

_A/N 1: This story is AU in that Severus Snape did not die. A rather brainy brunette saved him after Nagini's attack in DH. As much as is possible, I'll make this canon-compliant, though I'm ignoring the epilogue._

_A/N 2: Many thanks to all of you readers! This fic officially went over 400 reviews with the last chapter (Congrats to Cackles the Witch for being #400! I asked her what she would like as a prize, and offered a one-shot of her choosing… She said anything with her favorite puppies would be nice. I'll have to see what I can come up with…) and over 24,000 hits. And 120 of you have it on Story Alert! Yay! I can't tell you how exciting it is to know that so many of you are getting notice as soon as a chapter goes up._

_A/N 3: Many thanks also to co-author/beta-reader Felena1971. She's a genius, people. And a shitload of fun. :D I was really struggling with the St. Mungo's scene (part four) until she helped me think it through and connect the dots. She also came up with a title for this chapter, when I had NOTHING. NOTHING, I tell you!  
_

**Chapter 18: Potions and Possibilities**

* * *

**Part one: Severus**

"Well, at least that sadist Umbridge was good for something," Hermione says as she strains the murtlap tentacles that have been pickling in brine for the past two weeks. "I got very good at this during my fifth year, helping to heal the hands of all the people she had doing lines with her evil quill."

Her movements are sure and steady, and she doesn't waste a drop. She pours the murtlap into the cauldron with the salamander blood and pomegranate juice, and it emits a cloud of black smoke, causing her to blink furiously for several seconds.

"Our former Headmistress did take an unnecessarily cruel approach to discipline," I agree. "She derived pleasure out of miscreants' pain." I add the armadillo bile, and she stirs for ninety nine seconds to fully integrate its wit-sharpening qualities with the strengthening and soothing properties of the ingredients we have incorporated thus far.

"She was the exact opposite of you and Minerva," she muses as she stirs. Steam rises around her, and she glows with a light sheen of perspiration. Her blouse clings to her provocatively, but she is completely oblivious to the effect she has on me in this state. I am master enough of my body and mind that I can keep my reaction to myself.

"That would indicate that Minerva and I are alike," I say, with a chuckle. "Please tell me what I have in common with the old cat."

"You both control your classrooms with your intimidating manner. You both look and sound imposing, and students are generally unlikely to test you. When a student needs to be corrected, you take house points, and only rarely have to give detention."

"I prefer not to spend unnecessary time with dunderheads. But occasionally," I sigh, "detention is required." I am mixing powdered cacao into a small bowl of peppermint oil, which we will add toward the end of the brewing process. Our secret ingredients, as it were: peppermint for euphoria, and the cacao, or theobroma, for its effect on neurotransmitters. Fitting that the Latin name for the cacao plant translates into "food of the gods," as it may well be the key ingredient in what would certainly be hailed as a miracle cure if this works the way we hope it will.

"Right," she says, stoking the fire. We need the mixture at a rolling boil as we add the next four ingredients. "Umbridge was the exact opposite. She was all pink and fluffy, with that little-girl voice – designed to look and sound harmless. But she gleefully gave detentions. And not just unpleasant chores, either – she forced students to mutilate themselves."

The potion has reached a boil. She adds the Jabberknoll feathers – for memory enhancement – and stirs until the barbules separate and are mixed uniformly through the liquid. She carefully removes the shafts with an Accio charm, and vanishes them. Then she nods to me.

Time for my next contributions: more wit-sharpening ingredients. I add the minced ginger root, and stir twelve times clockwise. Next are the crushed scarab beetles, and twelve counterclockwise stirs.

We are knotweed and fluxgrass in perfect harmony: as a brewing team, we are now perfectly balanced, each enhancing the work of the other. We have been working on this potion for weeks, trying to get the proportions right, and looking for a stabilizing ingredient – previous attempts have had a nasty habit of evaporating on us just before we were ready to bottle them. This time, we believe we have the answer: flobberworm mucous, an oft-overlooked thickening agent, should anchor our other ingredients long enough for us to bottle and deliver the doses.

Hermione next adds the mandrake root. It has become our tradition, after her accident in Greenhouse Two, for Hermione to be the one to add mandrake any time we use it. She stirs 37 times, counting under her breath, and then steps back to watch the potion boiling vigorously in the cauldron. "Almost there," she says, wiping the sweat from the back of her neck with her sleeve. Her hair, escaping her braid, has turned into a frizzy frame around her face. She is startlingly beautiful.

I tear my eyes from her, and add the finely chopped hellebore leaves and stems. She lowers the flame, returning our mixture to a gentle simmer. I mark the time on my pocket watch – we have 29 minutes to relax before the next step in our plan. When I look her way again, I am surprised to see that she looks troubled.

"It will work this time, Hermione," I assure her. "The lowly flobberworm will finally serve a noble purpose, in providing us with the perfect stabilizer for this potion. We are rescuing it from its heretofore meaningless existence. I should think you would be pleased."

She laughs, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes, or the crease in the middle of her forehead. "I am pleased, Severus. But I am also puzzled by something that seems very basic to the study of Potions."

"Then ask me," I say. "Since when have you been reluctant to ask for clarification on something academic?" We sit together at a table across the room from our softly bubbling cauldron, where it is considerably cooler.

"It just seems like it must have been covered in our first year. I am embarrassed not to know something so fundamental, and I don't want to disappoint you with my lack of understanding."

I raise an eyebrow skeptically. "You studied Potions with me for seven years of school, and achieved the highest possible marks on your N.E.W.T. examinations, both theoretical and practical. You have been studying one-on-one with me all year. If there is something you do not understand about Potions, it can hardly be a fundamental issue."

"It's been bothering me for some time now. I went back to my old textbooks, and didn't find the answer to my question. I searched some of the most esoteric Potions references in the library, and didn't find it there, either."

"You are a mystery to me, sometimes, Hermione. Why would you go to such pains when you sit next to a Potions master at every meal, and for the past weeks you have been sleeping with him every night? Am I not a credible source of information on Potions?" My volume has increased – she has not infuriated me like this in months.

"I did not want to upset you," she mumbles.

"For the love of Circe, Hermione, just spit it out!"

She stands, and I see that she is trembling. "Severus," she says, miserably, "I'm so sorry that I don't know this already. But I just don't see where the magic is in Potions. What we are doing here – assessing the healing properties of different ingredients, mixing them in a way that is most likely to produce a desired result, calculating dosages, testing hypotheses – is not much different from what a Muggle apothecary or pharmacist does. Our ingredients come from different sources, like unicorns and flobberworms, but our methodology seems the same. Where is the magic, Severus?"

She looks so lost, standing there, arms folded protectively around herself, eyes wide and locked onto mine.

When I do not respond for several seconds, she drops her eyes and her voice. "I knew you would be disappointed in me. It must be the dumbest question any Potions student has ever asked."

I reach out for her, and pull her into my chest, where she shivers. Her tears fall silently and soak my shoulder. "What was the very first thing I ever told you about Potions, Hermione?"

She moans into my shoulder. "See? The very first thing! How could I have failed to grasp it?"

I pull her from my shoulder so that we are eye to eye again. "Stop moaning and think. The very first thing I told you: what was it?"

"That we would learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making. And that…" She gasps. "And that many of us would hardly believe that Potions is magic, because we would barely use our wands at all!"

"Right. Your memory, as usual, is impeccable."

"So, my difficulty is commonplace." She still sounds hopeless, and tears threaten once more to spill from her eyes. "I am not supposed to have commonplace difficulties, Severus. I am supposed to be an exceptional student."

"You are an exceptional student, Hermione. The best I have had in many years."

"Then why am I stuck on this first-year problem?"

"Just because I introduced the problem on your first day, does not mean I ever explicitly answered it. In fact, you are the first student I can ever remember who returned to that fundamental question and cared enough to find the answer." I brush the tears from her cheeks and chin. "One reason most students never ask the question you just asked is that the overwhelming majority of students are not Muggle-born. They are unlikely to see that Potions resembles the work of Muggle pharmacists. They lack your perspective."

"How is it different, Severus? This mystery has been plaguing me for months, ever since we started designing this Cruciatus cure together. Our methods have been so… mundane."

"How badly do you want to find a cure for the Longbottoms' condition?"

"Very badly, Severus. You know that! How much time have we devoted to this project?"

"But for what reason, Hermione? Is your chief goal to impress the St. Mungo's Advanced Training Coordinator, and get exceptional honors in your graduate work? Do you hope to sell the formula and make a pile of galleons? Do you hope to have your work published in the professional journals? Do you hope to be inducted as the youngest member in history of the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers?"

Her eyes flash in outrage at my suggestions. "No, Severus, of course not! I want to help Frank and Alice Longbottom, and I want to give Neville back his parents."

"Exactly. And that, Hermione, is the magic." I do know, of course, that she would dearly love to receive academic honors, get published, and be accepted in a highly selective professional society. But I also know that this project is important to her on a much deeper level, and that her chief motivation is not personal gain.

"I- I don't understand, Severus. You must think I am so thick."

"The magic in Potions, Hermione, is in the intention of the witch or wizard creating the brew. This is why Potter and Weasley will never be great potioneers – they just do not care sufficiently to imbue their results with purpose. But it is why you have such aptitude for my subject. Your perfect recall certainly helps. Your finely tuned senses are essential. But your dedication to the work brings all of your considerable magical powers to bear on the products of your efforts."

"Why is this concept not published in any of our texts, then? If students knew this, perhaps they would care more."

"No. The kind of passion required cannot be learned or forced. It is innate. Some people have it, but most do not. I can turn any good and willing student into a passable potioneer – good enough to master N.E.W.T. level work. But it is a rare student indeed who has the potential to become great."

"And you think I have the potential to become great?"

"I would not have agreed to work with you this year if I did not believe it." Is that true? Was I bound to help her in her studies because I owed her, for saving my life? Or was I unable to turn down the possibility of uncovering the Potions genius that I saw lurking underneath her maddening classroom behavior?

She turns a delicious shade of pink under my rare praise. I am losing my edge.

"Then why not explain it in the advanced texts, for those students who delve most deeply into Potions?"

"Will this knowledge change how you approach the potion we are creating for the Longbottoms? Will you now tap previously unused wells of passion for the project?'

"No," she replies, comprehension written on her lovely features. "I am already giving it everything I have. It won't change a thing. But I am glad to know it, just the same."

"Now you know. The secrets of Potion-making, passed down from master to apprentice over the centuries. You make the magic when you bring meaning to your labors."

She sits again, and ponders my words. "Fascinating," she says, as much to herself as to me. "You're saying then, that love is magic. That you have to brew a potion with love, or it won't work as well as it should."

I roll my eyes. Leave it to a Gryffindor to turn the beauty of Potions into a statement about emotion. "I said you must brew your potion with a commitment to your goal. Ambivalence, or worse – apathy, will not produce exceptional results."

"A Potions master, then, must be a man who does not shy away from commitment…"

A chuckle escapes me, as I see where she is headed. "A Potions master, Hermione, must be a man who knows what he wants. Who envisions a desirable outcome and works single-mindedly to achieve it."

"Severus," she whispers, and once again she is in my arms, "we're not talking about potions anymore, are we?"

"I stand by my statements," I say, low and in her ear, just as she likes it. She shivers against me, and I am glad she cannot see my knowing smile. "However, I cannot control how broadly you will interpret them." I reach my hand in between us, and she moans into my neck. I feel her knees weaken. But we cannot afford to succumb to our desires at this moment. I pull out my pocket watch, and hold it over her shoulder to check the time. Only four minutes remain before the next step in our brewing process. When she realizes what I am doing, she blushes, and pushes herself away from me.

"I suggest you channel that passion into your potion, witch," I say, now unable to hide my smirk. We move across the room toward our cauldron, to find that the potion has gone a promising shade of deep purple. The protective properties of hellebore have been completely absorbed into the mix. Only three steps remain.

She spoons the silvery flobberworm mucous into the cauldron, her eyes shining. She is radiant in the firelight, and as she slowly stirs the potion, I feel once again the pulse of her magical power flowing through her and from her.

Ever since that night at Grimmauld Place, I have been living out my imagined ideal future – with minor interruptions for teaching dunderheads, I have spent my time brewing potions with Hermione by day, and making love with her by night. It is everything I had dreamed it would be. But time is now my enemy. The end of term draws ever nearer. Even if, by some miracle, she chooses to stay involved with me, I will still lose this fantasy. She will begin work at St. Mungo's. And my days will become infinitely less interesting. If I could just make time stand still…

"Severus," she says, somewhat impatiently, and tugs on my arm.

Shit. What has become of me? I am acting like a love-struck teenager, unable to concentrate on my work because I am obsessed with keeping the object of my desire close to me for as many hours of the day as possible. "Yes, I am ready," I tell her, and I pour the combined peppermint oil and powdered cacao beans into the cauldron. It melts on contact with the simmering liquid, and she stirs to distribute it evenly.

"Last ingredient," I say, and hand her a shimmering strand of unicorn tail hair. She lowers it reverently into the potion, stirs three times in each direction, and then extinguishes the flame. We hold our breath, and watch as the potion slowly turns a pale silvery shade of lilac, and – most importantly – does not disappear.

"We did it," she whispers, awestruck. I summon the bottling materials from my storeroom, and we quickly save our creation. "Gods, Severus," she sighs, and my cock twitches from the memory of hearing those exact words, in that exact tone, in a very different setting. "I only hope it will do some good."

She glows with excitement. I am burning for her.

"We will test it soon," I tell her. "Right now, I suggest we clean up, and then mark this milestone with a goblet of wine."

"An excellent plan," she agrees, and begins to tidy up the lab.

I grab her hips as she passes in front of me, gathering leftover ingredients. "Not what I meant," I growl in her ear. I take her hand, and lead her through the hidden door into my quarters. With a wave of my wand, the shower starts to run, steaming up my bathroom.

"Oh," she says, smiling. She shakes her hair loose, and begins unbuttoning her blouse. "An even better plan."

* * *

**Part two: Poppy**

"We did it, Poppy," she says, beaming. "We created a potion that we think will help Frank and Alice Longbottom. It's bottled and ready for testing."

It is Thursday afternoon – our weekly meeting. "That is wonderful news, Hermione! You found a way to keep the potion stable, then."

"We did. We'll be testing it next week, over the Easter holiday. That way, Neville can be at St. Mungo's and not have to get someone to take his classes while he's gone."

"That's a good idea. I'm glad you'll be able to test it so soon." I bring the tea tray over, and she picks up her cup of Earl Gray, inhaling its scent, eyes closed. Success agrees with her. I don't know when I've seen her this relaxed. "You've been documenting your work carefully, right? You'll be able to write up this project and submit it for your dissertation."

A momentary shadow crosses her face, but she answers in the affirmative. I think I understand. The dissertation is the end of the road for her work with Severus, and the two of them have become quite close. She has taken to speaking almost entirely in first-person plural: we did it, we created a potion, we'll be testing it… Moving on is always difficult.

"This has been an exciting year for you, hasn't it, dear?"

"Oh yes," she gushes. "Working with Severus, learning so much, it's been incredible."

"You'll be sorry to see the year come to an end?"

"No, actually – I can't wait to finish the program and get this certification behind me."

That is not at all what I expected her to say, and I suppose my face must have communicated my surprise.

"So I can start putting my education to work in a practical way," she explains, "helping people that need healing."

"I understand your hurry," I say. "It is so gratifying to be able to help people recover from illnesses, injuries, and magical harm. In fact, it's hard to imagine ever retiring, I love what I do so much."

"What is your favorite part of your job, Poppy?" She leans forward, genuinely interested.

"Getting to know the students, I suppose." It's a good question, really. I get great satisfaction out of healing, out of putting an end to pain. But what makes the job fun is the students themselves. "I've developed a knack for knowing in their first year which ones will wind up spending the most time in my care, whether because they are accident prone like Neville, or have some chronic condition, like Remus, or are more daring than good sense seems to indicate like the Weasley twins and Harry…"

"You know, the students like you tremendously, too, Poppy." She puts her empty teacup back on the tea tray and smiles warmly. "You certainly took good care of me in my second year, between the cat fur and the petrification. I don't know if I ever properly thanked you." She rises, bends over me, and kisses me on the cheek. "Thanks, Poppy, for everything."

"See you next week," she calls over her shoulder, as she leaves me sitting in my chair, my hand still touching the spot where she kissed me. I am touched by her display of gratitude. I never expect thanks for doing my job. It has been my honor and my pleasure to take care of these children. But I have to admit, the recognition is sweet.

* * *

**Part three: Hermione**

I can't shake this afternoon's meeting with Poppy out of my head. Her obvious joy in her association with the Hogwarts students contrasts sharply with Severus's sarcasm and disparaging remarks about his charges.

We lie together in his bed, in the dark, our energy spent. He is drifting off to sleep, but I can't stop wondering if he is trapped in a job he dislikes. Is he truly unhappy as a teacher, or is it part of his grumpy Potions master act?

I kiss him awake.

"Gods, Hermione," he yawns. "Again?" He reaches for me sleepily, and pulls me close.

I can't stop my giggle. He may be tired, but he is willing. How did I get this lucky?

"No, Sev," I say softly, "I just wanted to ask you something."

"Can't it wait until morning?"

"I guess so."

But I have piqued his interest, and now he can't sleep, either.

He rolls to face me. "Go on," he sighs. "I must know what burning question is keeping you awake."

I slide my hand down his back, stopping at his bum, and take a deep breath. No turning back now. "Severus," I say softly, "Do you love what you do?"

He kisses me, slowly, deeply. I am losing track of what I wanted to ask him. Then he tells me, with an invitation in his voice, "I love what I do with you…"

"I love that, too," I breathe. "But I meant teaching. Do you love teaching?"

But he seems determined not to answer my question. He presses me into the bed, and wraps his tongue around my nipple. "I love teaching you," he growls.

Gods, but he knows what I like! My body is responding to him – again… But I really want to know… "Severus," I gasp, "Do you love teaching Potions to Hogwarts students?"

"Of course I do," he purrs, stroking down my side with his long delicious fingers. "There is nothing so fulfilling as teaching an ancient and beautiful art to unappreciative morons who would rather be anywhere but in my classroom."

"Not all of them are unappreciative morons," I say. "Isn't there any satisfaction in it?"

"Occasionally," he admits, rolling off of me, and finally taking my question seriously. "It is satisfying when one of my students turns out to have an aptitude for the art, and an appreciation of it. Unfortunately, very few ever truly grasp the subject at a deep level. Only one in hundreds shows any real promise."

I stroke his face in the dark. "That sounds like pretty slim rewards."

His hand captures mine, and brings my hand to his lips. "You," he says, kissing my palm, "your interest, your aptitude, your appreciation of the art and science of Potions is my greatest teaching success. If I had one student out of each year with your passion for the subject, teaching would be far less burdensome."

Though neither of us can see it, I am sure I am blushing. He has gotten more generous with his praise of me, but it still makes my stomach flutter to hear him say I am his greatest teaching success.

"Why have you stayed as Hogwarts Potions master for so long?" He freezes at my question.

Eventually, he slides my hand down to his chest, over his heart. I feel his heartbeat against my palm. "For so many years, I stayed because I needed the cover. Voldemort thought he had a spy at Hogwarts, and Dumbledore had easy access to the knowledge I gained as the Dark Lord's trusted advisor. The job was a convenience. Everyone wanted me to stay right where I was."

"But you stayed," I say softly. "Even after Voldemort's downfall. Why?"

"Hogwarts has been my home," he says simply. "I have spent fully half my life here teaching, and before that, I spent seven years as a student."

"That's a long time to spend in a dungeon, Severus."

He laughs, and when he speaks again, his tone is low and rumbling in his chest. It feels good under my hand. "What would you have me do, Hermione? Retire to a quiet life in the country with my books and… what, gardening, perhaps?"

"Of course not, Severus," I say, chuckling at the ridiculous image of him tending beds of roses in a sunlit country cottage. "It is obvious that you love Potions. But I just wondered if you loved teaching, too."

He reaches around me, his hand on the small of my back, and pulls me closer. "Well, I do enjoy frightening first years. That never gets old." His moment of seriousness has passed.

"Can you tell, in their first year, how good students will be at Potions?"

"Not quite that early," he says slowly. "My first years are unlikely to do much but tremble in their seats. But by the end of second year, a student who will excel at Potions has usually shown some signs. You, for example," he chuckles.

"I showed signs in my second year?"

"You gained access to a potentially dangerous book in the restricted section of the library, stole from my private stores, and brewed an effective Polyjuice Potion so you could get into my House's common room and spy on Draco Malfoy. Quite impressive."

"How- how did you…"

"I learned more than a few things about you while attempting to teach Occlumency to Harry."

I can hear his smirk, even though I can't see it. How embarrassing! What could he have learned?

He laughs again. "Not many second years would have the nerve to get a book from the restricted section under false pretenses, or the gall to steal from me. But more importantly, not many second years would have had the skill to make such a complicated potion and have it work as intended. Yes, yes – I would have punished you severely had I known at the time that you were the culprit. But I think perhaps spending weeks as a half-cat was punishment enough."

"You saw that in Harry's mind, did you?" I knew going in that I'd be breaking about fifty school rules. I had always looked upon my weeks in the infirmary with fur and a tail as a sort of karmic recompense for my actions.

"Does it concern you that I know so much about your extracurricular activities during your first five years of school?"

"Er…" I say, thinking back.

"You set fire to my robes at the Quidditch match in your first year, and beat my potions puzzle that protected the Sorcerer's Stone. You helped Hagrid hide an illegal dragon, hid your knowledge of Lupin's lycanthropy, helped Sirius Black escape with a condemned hippogriff, instigated an illegal Dark Arts Defense club…"

"Mmmm, yes. All true." Damn Harry for thinking about me so much! "That's not really fair, you know. I don't know all of your secrets."

"You know enough, witch," he grumbles, serious again. "I would rather you not know all of my secrets. You would not like what you saw."

"Severus," I say gently, and I reach for his face, caressing his jaw. "I love you. All of you, everything in your past that has brought you to this place and made you who you are. I can't hate any part of it, because you wouldn't be the same person without the whole of your experience."

He does not say he loves me, ever, though I know that he does. I can see it in his face, hear it in his voice, feel it when we make love. It has to be enough for me, because I do not think he is capable of actually speaking the words. Perhaps that is a side effect of having had to practice Occlumency so carefully around Voldemort for so long – he is barely able to own his emotions. Little by little, I think he might be recovering. I flatter myself by hoping I might be partly responsible. More likely, it is just due to the passage of time.

My declaration has moved him, however. He silently strokes my hair, my face, my back. His touch is tender, and I feel the warmth building again in my core.

Merlin, this man lights me on fire whenever I am around him. How can it be that sex with him just gets better and better? I have loved spending so much time with him lately as we have worked on our potion for repairing Cruciatus damage. He is such a master of his art that it is arousing just to be in his presence while he works. When we work together, collaborating on ideas, I can feel the heat of his body beside me. Seeing his passion for Potions, and being wrapped up it in with him – it makes me so wet with anticipation that when our workday is done it is all I can do not to throw myself at him.

I lied to Poppy today. I am not eager to go work in a Healing setting at St. Mungo's or anywhere else. All I want to do is what I have been doing for these past weeks: spending as much time as possible with Severus – wrapping our minds around a challenging problem all day, and wrapping our bodies around each other all night.

I have horribly mixed feelings about the end of the term approaching. It will be a relief to be more open about my relationship with Severus, once my training is over. I am tired of having to sneak around and watch what I say. But when I no longer share my meals with him, and brew potions with him, I will miss him so terribly. I might be able to floo to him every night from wherever I am, but would that be enough to make me happy? I dread finding out.

His lips distract me from my worries, as he pulls me into a tender kiss. I kiss him back, threading my fingers into his hair, and let the delights of the present moment carry me away.

* * *

**Part four: Hannah**

Severus, Hermione, Neville and I hold our breath as the Healer gives the potion first to Neville's mum and then to his dad.

Nothing happens. We are not surprised, because Severus and Hermione told us it might take up to 24 hours to reach full effectiveness. Still, I think we were all hoping for something.

"And now we wait," says Hermione. She sits in one of the green, lightly padded, straight-backed, standard issue hospital chairs, then stands, then sits again. She begins toying nervously with her robes. Severus absentmindedly transfigures her seat into a squashy armchair. She thanks him with a murmur, he nods his acknowledgement, and then he stands like a statue next to her.

I should have thought to do that. I'm the Transfiguration teacher. I guess I'm a bit distracted by the tension in the air. Twenty-four hours is a long time to wait for something Neville wants so very badly.

We are in the back end of the Janus Thickey ward for permanent spell damage, where Neville's parents have lived for as long as he can remember. Faded flowery curtains separate us from the rest of the ward.

Neville invited me to be here with him, I think because he wanted the moral support during what is sure to be an emotional day, whether this potion does any good or not. But at the moment, I feel like an intruder on what should be a private event.

Neville sits on his mother's bed, holding her hand. She gives him another Drooble's Best Blowing Gum wrapper, and smiles, humming softly. Both of Neville's parents look very frail, and far older than their years. She has very thin, white hair, and he has lost his hair entirely. Their eyes are wide in their thin faces, giving them a permanently surprised appearance.

"I'll check back with you every hour," says the Healer, taking her clipboard, and jotting some notes as she goes. "I'll be on duty for the next 6 hours, and then Healer Brent will take over."

As she pulls back the curtain, I catch a glimpse of Gilderoy Lockhart, our old Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. He waves wildly to me, and I wave back. He had been a brilliant wizard and author, but met with some kind of magical accident at the end of our second year. Ever since then, he has been confined to this ward. I didn't know that, of course, until Neville and I started dating and I came here with him to visit his parents over the Christmas holidays. Professor Lockhart does not recognize me as a former student. He doesn't remember anything from before his accident. But he remembers that I was here at Christmas, and that I accepted an autographed picture from him.

The curtain closes again. "Poor old Professor Lockhart," I sigh.

"He was an expert in his field of study," says Severus, smirking. "Of course, his field of study was himself. Rather ironic that he is no longer an expert even in that subject."

"Personally, I thought he was one of our better Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers," I say in the unfortunate man's defense. "It's true we learned a lot about Professor Lockhart himself, but he did also teach us quite a bit about hags, ghouls, vampires, werewolves, and the like, with all the reenactments from his books."

Hermione pats Severus on the back, and says, in a soothing voice, "Of course, Severus, you were very good, also."

"Oh yes, absolutely," I agree, too late. He rolls his eyes.

I had forgotten that Severus taught D.A.D.A. in our sixth year and was Headmaster in our seventh year. He will always be the Potions master in my eyes.

"No offense, Severus," says Neville, "but my favorite Defense teacher – other than Harry, I guess – was Professor Lupin. He made me feel like I could do anything I set my mind to. I'll never forget our first class with him, when he let me be the first to… face the…" His voice trails off and he looks anxiously at Severus.

I wasn't there, but of course, I heard all about it: the whole school heard. Neville had gotten to face a boggart, and it shapeshifted into his worst fear: Severus. Then, as instructed by Professor Lupin, he cast the Riddikulus charm while imagining his grandmother's clothes, and the boggart-Severus was suddenly wearing a vulture-topped hat and carrying a large red handbag.

Severus turns his glittering black eyes on Neville, and asks coolly, "And how is your grandmother?"

Neville has gone bright red. "Sh-she's f-fine," he stammers. "I d-didn't t-tell her about your p-potion, though, j-just in case there isn't any improvement. Sh-she's quite elderly, you know. I didn't want to get her hopes up."

Ah, Neville. He's already under such stress. He didn't need to accidentally remind everyone about that incident in Professor Lupin's class with Severus right here. What we need here, and quickly, is a change of topic. I look around the ward, casting about for something to say – something that would remind everyone of Neville's strength, not his fears.

"Neville, I'm so glad you effectively ended Geoffrey Crawford's plans to be a Healer here. I can't imagine someone with his brutish nature actually caring for patients. Besides, he deserved it, after what he did."

"Thanks, Hannah," he says, looking grateful. He rises from his mother's bed, still holding her hand. "Filius said they've met a few times to explore new career paths for him, and that he's steering him away from anything that involves contact with the public."

Severus looks sharply from Neville to me, and back again. "What has that arrogant berk done now?"

"Oh," I say, with a nervous glance at Hermione, "I assumed you would have heard about it by now."

She sighs, and rises, taking his hand. "Severus, I'm sorry I neglected to mention it to you. I consider the matter closed, and I didn't want to upset you unnecessarily."

His eyes search her face, and he growls, "What happened?"

"When I went to ask Neville for permission to test our potion with his parents, I found myself alone in the greenhouse with Crawford for a few minutes."

"Alone with Crawford! You should have left immediately. He has had designs on you ever since you got hurt by the Venomous Tentacula."

"You were hurt by the Venomous Tentacula? How did that happen?"

"It's all right, Neville. Crawford was there doing extra work, hoping to impress you, and he took me to Severus, who treated me immediately."

"Back to what Crawford did to you," Severus roars, and Hermione winces.

"He asked me to the Valentine's Dance, and when I turned him down, he invited me to go up to the Astronomy Tower."

Severus goes, if possible, paler than usual.

"Again I turned him down," Hermione says, rushing her story, "but he wasn't taking no for an answer."

"I assume you hexed him with something painful," he says, eyes narrowed.

"I reacted instinctively, Severus. I slapped him across the face, hard, but even that did not deter him, and he pinned me against the work table."

His mouth is drawn into a very dangerous-looking thin line.

"But Neville and I arrived," I interject, hurrying the story to the point where Neville rescued her, "and Neville Stupefied him. After we made sure Hermione wasn't hurt, he revived Crawford, took 100 house points from him, threatened to expel him, and told him he would never be a Healer if he had anything to do with it."

"It's over, Severus. Crawford hasn't so much as looked at me since then."

An awful silence falls over our group except for Mrs. Longbottom's tuneless humming. Hermione, Neville, and I can't tear our eyes from Severus's face as he struggles to control himself.

Finally, he turns from Hermione to Neville, and bows slightly. "Thank you for assisting Hermione. However, I do believe you let him off too easily. I shall deal with Crawford myself."

Hermione, horrified, claps her hand to her mouth. "Severus," she gasps, "what are you going to do to him?"

"A long-lasting impotency potion slipped into his morning pumpkin juice ought to help. When it wears off in a year or two, perhaps he will be mature enough to behave responsibly."

"You wouldn't," she says, unsure how seriously to take him. "That would be immoral, not to mention illegal."

"Of course," he says, without a trace of a smile on his face. "I was only joking."

Somehow I don't see him as much of a jokester. Still, I don't plan to warn Crawford to stay away from pumpkin juice. The creep deserves anything he's got coming to him.

Mrs. Longbottom is rocking back and forth on her bed, hands wrapped around her knees, and face hidden. Neville strokes her back gently. Mr. Longbottom is curled up against the wall and breathing rapidly.

"You know," he says slowly, "I think maybe it would be best for Mum and Dad if we had fewer people here. All this talk seems to be upsetting them."

"I can go, Neville," I say. I don't seem to be doing much good here anyway.

"No, Hannah," he says. "Please stay with me and my parents. We can help the Healers keep notes about their progress. Hermione, Severus – why don't you two go back to Hogwarts for some rest. We'll send word if anything changes."

Hermione takes Severus by the hand again. "Maybe you're right, Neville," she says. "We'll borrow the portrait of Dilys Derwent from Minerva's office. You can send us news through her portrait in the admitting area."

She gives Neville a one-armed hug on her way out. Professor Lockhart waves to me again when the curtain flaps open as they leave, and I wave back.

"Hello again," I hear him telling Hermione and Severus. "Are you sure you wouldn't like an autographed picture?"

"No, thank you," says Hermione's voice, politely.

Severus growls menacingly.

"Maybe next time, then," Lockhart says, hopefully.

* * *

_A/N: I KNOW I keep revising my estimate. But at this point I am projecting a total of 20 chapters, including an epilogue. I have the remaining two chapters very roughly drafted out, so I hope it won't take me too long to get them written and posted._

_LOL, I just realized that between me & Felena, we're writing Snape as some bizarre combination of Star Trek Next Generation characters Data and Worf: no contractions, but grumpy and growling menacingly all the time. I always did adore Worf, that big hunky Klingon… (Felena's more fond of Data. She has more than a slight weakness for geeks.)  
_


	19. Chapter 19: The Duel

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the characters or setting – those belong to JK Rowling, to whom I am eternally grateful for creating the Potterverse. I'm just taking a couple of her characters out for a spin, but promise to return them, only slightly the worse for wear.

_A/N 1: This story is AU in that Severus Snape did not die. A rather brainy brunette saved him after Nagini's attack in DH. As much as is possible, I'll make this canon-compliant, though I'm ignoring the epilogue._

_A/N 2: It is obvious that my co-author/beta-reader Felena1971 loves Olympic swimmer Michael Phelps more than she loves me. I see how it is… The boy wins his 7__th__ gold of the Games, and suddenly I don't exist… Well, OK. Now that the Boy Wonder has won all 8 of his gold medals, she is able to be her usual helpful super-beta-self again. _

_A/N 3, from Felena1971: HEY! He was making history...and have you seen those abs?! And by the way...Super Beta huh?? looks around for her cute little outfit with a hot pink B emblazoned across the chest and an uber fabulous color coordinated wash and wear cape and tights._

**Chapter 19: The Duel **

* * *

**Part one: Severus**

In Minerva's office, Hermione explains what we need.

"Do let me know when you hear anything, won't you?" Minerva asks, her eyes glistening. "Oh, what this could mean to Neville – to all of us, really. What a victory it would be to reclaim Frank and Alice..."

The current Headmistress sniffles as she removes the portrait of the late Headmistress from the wall.

"Of course we will," Hermione promises, taking the portrait. "And we'll return Headmistress Derwent to you as soon as we are done."

Behind them, Dumbledore catches my eye, indicates Hermione with a barely perceptible nod of the head, and then raises a quizzical eyebrow. I roll my eyes. As if I would give him the satisfaction. I do not need to hear the old fool waxing poetic again about the power of love. I had enough of that when he was alive, thank you very much.

I carry the borrowed portrait down to the dungeon, and lean it up against the wall in my quarters. After a brief conversation with Hermione, Dilys Derwent leaves her frame. She will stay in her portrait in the St. Mungo's admitting area, waiting for word of some change in Frank and Alice Longbottom, so that she can relay it to us here at Hogwarts.

Now there is nothing to do but wait. I settle into my favorite chair and summon the bottle of cognac, offering Hermione a drink as I pour one for myself.

"I don't need a drink," she says, pacing my quarters like a caged lioness. I beg to differ. Tension is rolling off of her in almost palpable waves. "What I need is to be doing something. Anything."

"Anything?" I smirk at her over the rim of my glass.

"Come on, Severus, how can you think about that at a time like this? It's killing me not to know what's going on."

"Then you need something to take your mind off of the waiting," I say, my voice still making the words an invitation.

"Maybe the lab needs cleaning," she suggests. "Or the shelves in the storeroom need new labels…"

"Come," I say, setting down my drink and standing. "I know just the thing."

She stops pacing, and faces me, her hands on her hips in exasperation. "You are not listening to me, Severus. I am not in that kind of mood, I'm sorry. I just can't think about sex when I'm so concerned about the Longbottoms, and the effectiveness of our potion."

"Did I say anything about sex? I was going to suggest we practice dueling, you dirty minded witch."

"Pardon?"

"Dueling. Surely you have heard of it before."

"Severus," she says, incredulous. "I can't duel you. You'd hex me into next week!"

"Certainly you can. Just pretend you are back in your D.A. lessons. A little practice would do you well, so that the next time some cretin like Crawford comes at you, you can stop him cold without resorting to punching him in the face."

"I didn't punch him," she grouses. "I slapped him. Hard."

"Regardless," I say, drawing my wand between the fingers of my left hand. "There are better ways to stop someone from mauling you in a greenhouse. Perhaps with practice, your reflexes will be more… refined. Less brutish in nature. Ah, but I suppose it can't be helped. You are after all m..."

"Don't you DARE blame my supposed brutishness on my being Muggleborn, Severus Snape!"

"I was about to blame it on your being Mister Potter's friend. He is over-reliant on Expelliarmus, and you are over-reliant on physical violence. You both need to hone your reflexes so that you can deliver an effective magical attack when it is needed."

"My reflexes are fine, Severus," she says, glowering at me, "and so are Harry's."

My prodding is working. She is irritated with me, but I notice she is no longer pacing the floor with her mind hundreds of miles away at St. Mungo's.

"Then show me. Let us duel."

She draws her wand. I draw my wand. We take our positions about twenty feet apart. I incline my head in a small bow, and she dips in an almost-curtsey. I must have a word with Potter – no one curtseys before a duel. What was he teaching them in the D.A.?

The duel, such as it is, begins. I realize immediately that casting our spells verbally will result in draw after draw – we each easily block every spell cast by the other. While her speed is impressive, I want to see what more she is capable of doing.

"A passable effort," I tell her. "However, I think this would be far more interesting if we start casting our spells silently."

"So you can hit me with a stinging hex or a conjunctivitis curse? No, thank you." She is still in her dueling stance. Good form.

"Where is your Gryffindor courage now, witch? Or do you not trust me as much as you have claimed you do?" I quirk an eyebrow at her in silent challenge. "I have no wish to hurt you; I merely want to see if you can still block me effectively when you do not know what is coming, or when."

"All right," she says, grinning. "But you won't know what's coming either. You never know, I might try to hit you with a cheering charm."

"You wouldn't dare," I say with a sneer. "I prefer to be grumpy."

"You've raised grumpiness to an art form," she chuckles.

"Enough talk. Do I have to Silence you so we can duel?"

And the next thing I know, I am covered in yellow feathers. While I was talking, she was casting the canary transformation hex. Well played. I didn't see it coming at all.

"I see that you are still using Occlumency so I cannot tell what you're planning," I say, as the feathers molt off and I return to normal, "and that enabled you to slip a spell past my defenses." Keeping my own Occlumency shield up, I send the jelly-legs jinx at her, and it strikes home.

"Whoa, Severus" she says, wobbling around like a newborn fawn until she can grasp the wall for support. "You have far more entertaining ways of making my legs feel like rubber, you know." She points her wand at her lower half. "Finite."

"I thought you weren't in the mood," I remind her with a smirk.

But the smirk slides off my face as thick ropes shoot out of her wand and wrap around me, knocking me to my knees. The little wench distracted me by talking about how I make her legs rubbery.

"Oh, it is my turn to be tied up, is it?" Interesting… We have not experimented with any bondage at all since my birthday, when I bound her hands to the bedposts.

"You might enjoy it, Severus," she says in a low, seductive voice. "It was the most marvelous combination of frustration and titillation."

"Of course it was," I tell her smugly. "I knew that you, with your constant need to control every situation, would find it deliciously tormenting to be completely at my mercy."

"You were right," she admits, "but don't think I don't know that your chief motivation was to hide your identity from me. Unsuccessfully, I might add, as I already knew it was you." She wipes the sleeve of her robes across her forehead. "Is it getting warm in here?"

"I'd be happy to cast Aguamenti to cool you off," I offer, "but you would need to release me, first."

"No thanks, Severus," she grins.

"Are you turning down the Aguamenti? Or refusing to release me?" I am getting tired of kneeling here with heavy ropes pinning my arms.

"At the risk of repeating myself," she says, arching an eyebrow coquettishly, "you have far more entertaining ways of getting me wet. I'll just remove my robes to cool off." She slides them off, and I watch hungrily, trapped by the ropes. "But I will release you, of course," she says, noting my expression and smiling. "Diffindo."

My bindings fall away, and I rise. "It is indeed too warm for robes," I say, and drop mine as well. "Now, shall we continue?"

"If you're up to it," she teases.

"I am always up to it, witch," I growl. Damn, Lily was right. Dueling with one's partner does make good foreplay. The give and take, the jockeying for power: it is quite… stimulating.

We take our dueling positions again.

I cannot help but admire Hermione's shapely form, and on a whim, I cast a wordless Evanesco at her white blouse. "You still looked hot," I tell her.

"That was the blouse Luna gave me for my birthday," she says angrily. "I loved that one!"

"I liked it too," I tell her, quite honestly. "It fit you so well that it got me thinking about what was underneath. But I will make you a deal: I will replace the blouse for you if you can outduel me."

"Let me think about it," she says, tapping her chin thoughtfully with her wand. Then a devilish grin crosses her face, and she takes up her dueling stance once more. "I accept your challenge," she says, confidently.

* * *

**Part two: Hermione**

I've been telling Severus that I'm not in a particularly sexy mood, and when we started this duel, it was the truth. But honestly, it is pretty arousing to see him dueling. He has such presence, such composure. Even when he was covered in canary feathers, or helpless, bound in my ropes – I can't believe I sneaked Incarcerous past him! – he still had such an aura of authority.

We face each other, wands raised.

If I don't strike quickly, I will be on the receiving end of another of his spells. Wordlessly, I take careful aim, and hit his trousers with Evanesco.

He's got quite a tent pole in his boxers, and he catches me looking. "I thought you said you weren't in that kind of mood," he protests, and his moment of hesitation is all I need.

I vanish his shirt, too.

"I'll get you for that," he says, and the next thing I know, my jeans have vanished. I am dueling in only a bra, panties, socks, and shoes.

"What is this," I laugh, "Strip Dueling?"

He chuckles as well. "First one naked loses?"

"An interesting proposal," I say, "seeing as how you are currently wearing even less than I am."

"Do you agree to the terms?"

"First one naked loses. And if you lose, you will replace my blouse."

He nods his agreement.

"And if I lose?"

"If you lose…" He ponders this. I can see he hasn't thought this through. Although he obviously expects to win, his only interest is apparently in getting me naked. "If you lose," he finally says, a glint in his eyes, "you wear skirts, rather than jeans, for the rest of the Easter holiday – with nothing underneath."

I nod solemnly, and take up my dueling stance once more. But before he can vanish any more of my clothing, I magically, wordlessly – and quite shamelessly, really – vanish all of my own remaining clothing.

"What in Merlin's name?" he asks.

"Oops! I guess I lose." I shrug at him, and grin broadly. "Though it sounds like I will have a very good week, regardless. May I give the winner a congratulatory kiss?"

I toss my wand onto the only piece of clothing I have left, today – my discarded robe. Then I saunter over to him, and wrap my arms around his neck, my breasts pushing up against him, as I pull his face down to mine, kissing him ardently. He groans as I slide a finger under his waistband, and remove his boxers by Muggle means.

"I thought you wanted me to replace that blouse," he says, between kisses.

"I'll replace it myself," I tell him. "You were taking too long to undress me – I couldn't wait. If only you were a better dueler…"

"You'll pay for that, witch," he growls, and smacks my bum.

"Mmmm, are you going to punish me?"

* * *

**Part three: Severus**

She breaks away from me, and sashays to my bed. I follow her, removing the last vestiges of my apparel as I walk.

"You certainly deserve punishment," I tell her. "You have some nerve, witch. Now come here." I pull her across my knees, her luscious arse before me, and give her another gentle smack.

She giggles. "Ooh, Severus. Had I only known when I was a schoolgirl, perhaps I would have misbehaved more often in your class. You can punish me like this all you want."

"You like it, do you?" I smack her bum again, a bit harder, and she gasps.

"You said you wouldn't hurt me…"

"There is a fine line between pleasure and pain – you must tell me if I cross that line," I instruct her, and spank her again, just hard enough to raise a bit of color on her cheeks. "Now: do you still want to misbehave in my class?"

"I do," she gasps. "I want to… talk in class."

"Bad girl," I tell her. "You will give your attention to me, and only to me." Smack.

"I want to, ahhh, waste potion ingredients."

"Waste not, want not, Miss Granger." Smack. "You must be more careful in my class."

"Oh, yes," she moans. "I'm going to mess up my potion because I'm not being careful, and, um, melt my cauldron."

"Such a mess you're creating." I rub her bottom, soothing the sting where my palm left a red imprint, and slipping my fingers in between her now damp thighs. Oh Merlin, she's slick and hot. My mouth waters as I slide a finger inside her. "We must find a way to clean it up." I remove my digit and suck it clean, and she whimpers.

"Perhaps, Professor," she says, and her voice is thick with lust, "perhaps if I were to get down on my hands and knees with a scrub brush…"

"That, Miss Granger, is a bloody brilliant idea," I growl. "Crawl onto the bed. Facing the headboard, if you will."

She readily complies with my directive, the muscles on her back rippling with anticipation.

"Wh- what do you want me to do now, P-professor?"

Mmmm, the options are almost overwhelming. There is no rush, I remind myself. I should like to draw out the pleasure. I lie on my back, positioning my face under her and pulling her down by her hips until my tongue can make contact with her soaking wet pussy. "I want you to stay perfectly still, Miss Granger," I tell her, as I part the tight brown curls.

"Gods, P-professor," she moans, already rocking her pelvis, "I- I'm not sure I'll be able to do that!"

"Such a lack of discipline," I mutter, and I swipe my tongue across her clit, making her squeal in delight. I continue to explore her with my tongue and my fingers, as she gasps and moans.

"Severus," she cries, as I penetrate her with my tongue, sucking her sweet juices, my nose brushing against her clit. "Severus, I- I want you. I can't stand being this passive – I- I've got to get my hands on you, or my mouth, or- or something!"

I chuckle, and the vibration draws another moan from her.

"We shall have to work on your patience, Miss Granger," I tell her, with emphasis on her surname. "And your manners."

"No, please," she begs, and I chuckle again.

"Manners," I tease.

"No, please, Sir," she cries. "Please don't make me wait, P-professor."

"All right, then," I tell her. "You may turn around."

I hold her hips as she turns, keeping her within reach, but allowing her access to my body as well. Her warm hand caresses my thigh, then slides to my waiting cock and curls around it. She sighs in appreciation as her tongue wraps around my head, making me gasp. As I return my tongue to her and adjust to this opposite angle, I feel the hot, wet cavern of her mouth slide slowly down my shaft. She moans deeply as she takes me fully into her mouth, and I feel her stomach flutter in excitement.

The dual action of sucking and being sucked drives her even faster to the edge. She sighs with pleasure and groans with want, grinding herself into my face, her juices running down my chin. Her vocalizations drive me to the edge as well – her hands, her lips, her tongue, and the vibration of her whole mouth when she moans… I feel myself sliding toward oblivion, but I am not ready to go there just yet.

I push her hips off of me. "Not so fast, witch," I growl, and slap her arse once more, for good measure. "Stay right there." I move around behind her on my knees. With one hand braced on her hip, I use the other to rub the tip of my cock against her dripping slit.

"Please, Severus," she moans. I love it when she begs me.

"Please, Professor," I correct her, giving her just the tip.

"Please, Professor," she says, rocking back, attempting to slide herself onto me.

"Say it, Miss Granger. What do you want?"

"Please, Professor," she gasps. "Fuck me, now! I can't wait any longer!"

"Language, Miss Granger," I scold, inching forward. It takes everything I have not to ram myself into her quivering body.

"Gods, you're a sadist," she cries. "What do you want from me?"

The answer comes from nowhere and from everywhere inside me at once.

"Everything," I tell her, finally sliding into her up to the hilt. "I want everything from you, Hermione." I am feverish with desire for her, for all of her.

"Anything," she sighs, finally getting what she has needed all this time. I love the feeling of my cock filling her, and her moans tell me she loves it as much as I do. "Everything," she says. "All yours, Severus, all yours."

How can I deserve this bounty? And yet, deserving or not, I intend to lay claim to her. "I want your body, your mind, your heart, and your soul." I stroke in and out of her, punctuating each of my desires with a slow, deep thrust. "I want your past, your present, and your future." The words spill from me – the unplanned, unedited, unvarnished truth.

"All yours, always," she cries.

Ah, but it is too much to bear. I pull out suddenly and she snarls in protest, until I deftly flip her onto her back and plunge back in.

"MY witch," I growl in her ear. "Mine."

"Yes, love, yours," she says, moving with me. "With you, ever and always."

I bend to kiss her, and she opens to me, letting me inside, welcoming me home. We move as one being in two halves, melting together as if we have spent eternity trying to reunite our essence into the oneness we were always meant to be. We lose ourselves completely in the union, finally, our cries even melding into one sound that echoes off the stone walls of my chambers as we fall into the void.

* * *

**Part four: Hermione**

"I have news from St. Mungo's for Professor Snape and Miss Hermione Granger," booms an authoritative alto voice, waking me from a deep, dreamless sleep. "Is anyone here?"

I clutch the bed sheets to my chest and sit up. It is completely dark, but down here in the dungeons, that does not mean it is the middle of the night. I realize I have no idea how much time has passed since our potion was administered to the Longbottoms.

"Severus," I whisper, nudging him.

He reaches over me to retrieve his wand from the nightstand.

"Just a moment, Headmistress Derwent," he calls. "You caught me resting. Would you mind returning to St. Mungo's for ten minutes, while I put on proper attire for our conversation, and summon Miss Granger from her quarters?"

"I'll give you seven," she says, quite businesslike. "I dislike waiting."

Severus lights the torches and his fireplace.

"Severus," I whisper again, though now that she has gone back to her portrait at St. Mungo's, I'm not sure why I am being so quiet. "You vanished all my clothes!"

He strides unselfconsciously to the hearth, his pale tapered back and firm buttocks dramatically defined in the shadowy room. "Hogwarts kitchen," he says, tossing a handful of floo powder into the flames, and putting his face into the fire. "I need you to bring a skirt and coordinating blouse, a brassiere, and a pair of shoes from Miss Granger's quarters to my chambers."

I cannot see which house elf has responded, but I do hope it's Dottie. I trust her to keep our secret.

"No," he tells the unseen elf. "Knickers will not be necessary."

I squirm involuntarily in the bed.

"We are in a bit of a hurry," he is saying. "I require these items in three minutes, at most."

I leap from between his forest green sheets, and scurry to his bathroom. "I'll be freshening up, Sev," I call. "Let me know when those clothes arrive!"

Before I am even done washing my face, he knocks. "Your things," he announces, and hands them to me when I open the door.

By the time our messenger returns to her portrait, we are both dressed and ready. It is six in the morning. The Longbottoms got their potion fifteen hours ago.

"Miss Hannah Abbot reports that Frank and Alice Longbottom woke early this morning alert and speaking," she informs us. "Please return to St. Mungo's as soon as you are able."

"Thank you, Headmistress," I tell her. "We'll floo there right away." She disappears again to deliver our message, and I turn to Severus. "Alert and speaking," I whisper. "We did some good!"

* * *

_A/N: Well, here you go – this is the shortest chapter in the story so far, but that's only because it WAS going to be the very biggest by a very long shot, and Felena1971 wisely spotted that this was a good place to break it up. So – never fear! Chapter 20 is already mostly written – over 8000 words done, and only a few little scenes remain. And THEN I'll do an epilogue. So, because this one was turning out huge and needed to be split, we're now looking at 21 chapters total, including epilogue._

_By the way: If you like the work that Felena1971 and I are doing (and it seems that you do – many of you have me on author alert or favorite author status), you'll want to add WordNerds2008 (user# __1673268) to your list. That's the new joint profile Felena1971 and I just set up. In the future, our collaborations will appear there. It'll be easier for us both to respond to your reviews that way. I hope to see you there! In the meantime, we'll finish up this story over here, and any future projects I work on by myself will still show up here. But at this point, it's hard to imagine writing without her – she's my muse, my nitpicker, my second brain, and my quality control expert._


	20. Chapter 20: Overflow

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the characters or setting – those belong to JK Rowling, to whom I am eternally grateful for creating the Potterverse. I'm just taking a couple of her characters out for a spin, but promise to return them, only slightly the worse for wear.

_A/N 1: This story is AU in that Severus Snape did not die. A rather brainy brunette saved him after Nagini's attack in DH. As much as is possible, I'll make this canon-compliant, though I'm ignoring the epilogue._

_A/N 2: Actually THIS is the chapter for which Felena1971 channeled Neville. My mistake. Thank you, darling, for all your help, and for beta-ing this chapter when you didn't really feel like it._

**Chapter 20: Overflow**

* * *

**Part one: Severus**

Hannah Abbot, looking very agitated, meets us in the lobby. She hurries us up to the fourth floor as she briefs us on what has transpired. Apparently, alertness and verbal ability are not the only improvements in the Longbottoms' condition: some of their memories returned to them as well.

"The first word out of Mrs. Longbottom's mouth in over twenty-one years was Neville's name," she tells us.

"How wonderful," says Hermione, clapping her hands. "Neville must be so happy!"

"Not exactly." Her mouth is set in a grim line. "She was looking for her one-year old son. She would not believe that our Neville is the same baby boy she knew and loved. In fact, she accused Neville of stealing her baby, and then Mr. Longbottom threatened to curse him if he did not return the boy immediately. Luckily, I suppose, their magical powers do not appear to have returned to them, or Neville would be in even worse shape than he is now."

Hermione's eyes are now wide with horror. "How bad is he?"

"He got very upset when the Healer on duty asked him to leave the room so she could give his parents a Calming Draught and an examination. He thinks that if he were given more of a chance, that he could get through to them."

I slow my pace to follow several paces behind the two women, realizing that I am ill suited for this mission. I would rather give Minerva McGonagall a sponge bath than walk into a room with this much raw emotion flying about.

"Two very burly nurses led us to a waiting room, where I'm taking you now. They're making sure he stays in the room so he won't go in and get his parents upset again. They've threatened to give him a Calming Draught as well, but he's refusing it – says they'll have to Stun him first to get it down his throat."

"Oh, poor Neville," cries Hermione. "What can I do to help?"

"Just please come and talk to him. He's been pacing the room in a fury, muttering, swearing, shaking – it's just awful. He keeps begging the nurses to let him back in with his parents, and when they say no, he roars in frustration. I don't know how to help him, but he's always looked up to you and trusted you. If anyone can help him get back under control, I think you can."

"I'll try my best, Hannah," she promises. She turns back to me. "Severus, would you go on into the ward and see what we can do to help the Healers?"

Certainly, my presence in the waiting room would not be soothing to Neville Longbottom's raw nerves. And quite honestly, I have no desire to see him in such distress. If I were to be moved to pity for him, I could be in grave danger of actually… being kind to him. Which would, no doubt, herald some kind of apocalypse.

No, far better for me to be in a room with two patients who have recently imbibed a Calming Draught, and a team of Healers quietly outlining treatment options.

"Of course," I say, nodding a farewell to the two of them, and turning sharply left to enter the Janus Thickey ward.

* * *

**Part two: Hermione**

Hannah and I open the door to the waiting room to find Neville standing, his whole body taut and trembling, and his wand pointed directly into the face of a very muscular blond man in a nurse's uniform. "I'll get past you one way or another," growls Neville.

"Neville," I say sternly, drawing my wand and affecting my best bossy voice from back in my Prefect days. "Lower your wand. Don't make me use Petrificus Totalis on you again. You know I'll do it, if I have to."

He lowers his wand, and turns his haunted eyes toward me. "Hermione," he says, weakly. "What are you doing here?"

"Apparently, I'm stopping you from getting yourself banned from St. Mungo's for cursing an employee. We both know you don't want that."

"No," he says, puzzled. "I mean, why aren't you in with my parents, checking to see how your potion is working?"

"Because right now, Neville," I say softly, taking him by the hand and leading him back to a chair, "you need me more than they do. Severus has gone to check on them and to confer with the Healers. I'm here with you for as long as you need me."

He sits, elbows on his knees, and fingers pressing hard on his temples. "Hannah told you what happened?"

"She did," I tell him, and I start to rub his back gently.

I glance over at Hannah, sitting on his other side. _Thank you_, she mouths at me, over Neville's lowered head.

"The potion," he says. "It's… it's incredible what it's done for them. I have no memory of my parents speaking to me before today. I just wish…" He pauses, pressing his palms over his eyes.

"It'll come, Neville," I say, as soothingly as possible. "It's just going to take some time. I'm sorry we didn't foresee their reaction and warn you that this could happen. I'm afraid we were so focused on the restorative potential of the Potion that we didn't think all the way through their likely stages of recovery and reintegration. I- I take full responsibility for that, Neville."

"I think if I could be with them now, especially since they've had a Calming Draught, that I could make them understand that I'm their son. Don't you think I could go visit them again?" His eyes plead with me silently, but I shake my head.

"Not just yet, Neville. I know this must be incredibly difficult for you, but I need you to trust me, and to trust the Healers here. You are an incredibly strong person, and you can do this. You can give them a little more time to adjust to this new world, this new time, before they need to adjust to the idea that their son is no longer a toddler. It's going to be very hard for them, and for you, but I know you are up to this challenge."

He takes a deep, shuddering breath.

"Listen, Neville. It's still very early in the day. Why don't we go to the tearoom and get something for breakfast, and talk some more?"

"I'm not hungry," he says, his red-rimmed eyes still glancing in the direction of the Janus Thickey ward.

"Then don't eat," I say. "But a bit of chamomile tea might help your nerves. You have had some big shocks to your system already today."

He stands, and runs his hands through his hair, grabbing fistfuls of his brown locks and pulling. Gently, I pry one hand loose, and Hannah takes the other.

"We'll be in the tearoom," I tell the nurses, who nod their understanding. "Please send word immediately if there is any change whatsoever in the Longbottoms' condition."

Hannah and I lead Neville out of the waiting room, toward the tearoom, and, though he makes a funny sound in his throat as we pass his parents' ward, he comes without a struggle.

* * *

**Part three: Hannah**

Neville is so much better now that Hermione is here! He still looks heartbroken, but he is no longer frantic. She soothes him in an almost motherly way.

Though he said he wasn't hungry, he has ordered a fair bit of food off the menu, and it seems to be strengthening him.

"I just don't understand why they don't recognize me," he says, between bites of blueberry muffin. "I understand that they might expect their son to be a baby still, but… even if they don't know I'm their son, they should know I'm the person who has been visiting them for years and years, right? How could they think I would steal their child? They used to smile when they saw me. My mother may not have known who I was, but I could tell…" His voice is thick, and probably not from his breakfast. "I could tell… that sh-she loved me."

Hermione lowers her eyes to her coffee, allowing Neville to wipe his eyes discreetly on his napkin.

"I do hope eventually to establish myself as their son, only grown up," he says slowly. "But… do you think I've lost the connection I've had with them for most of my life? Will they remember my visits?"

What a trade-off – he may have gained potential parents, but was it at the cost of the only relationship with them he's ever known? Does he have to start all over, as a stranger to them?

When he looks up again, his eyes have a new fire in them. "Maybe if I brought in the Droobles wrappers my mother has been giving me, it would help her remember?" He puts his hand on the table, palm facing upward, as though accepting yet another gum wrapper.

"Is it always Droobles?" I place my hand in his, on the table. "I wonder why she gives you those," I say absently. "Do they have some special meaning, or something?"

Neville smiles at me sadly. "You don't know how many times I've wished I could just look into her eyes and see what she's thinking..."

Hermione looks up at him with a blazing look in her eyes, but a gasp from behind me distracts all of us. It is the waitress, who is refilling my teacup.

"You're Hermione Granger," she says, awestruck. "It's such an honor!" Then she sees me and Neville, and her eyes widen even further. "Professor Longbottom and Professor Abbot," she exclaims, "What are you doing here?"

Now I recognize the girl. Out of context, and with her long black hair pulled into a severe bun, it was easy to overlook her, but of course it is Marigold DeCarlo, a Ravenclaw who graduated last year.

"We're visiting someone," I tell her. "I didn't know you worked here."

"I just started this year," she says. "I want to be a healer, just like you, Miss Granger. I'm in my first year of training at St. Mungo's. I'm working here in the tearoom to help pay my tuition. It is such an honor to serve you…"

Hermione tries to smile graciously, but I can see that her mind is still occupied with whatever had caught her attention before the interruption. "You're too kind," she murmurs.

Marigold is so starstruck by Hermione that she isn't paying any attention to what she is doing. My teacup is full, but she keeps pouring from the pot, and it overflows the saucer. A brown stain begins to spread around it.

Hermione has noticed it now, too, and snaps out of her reverie. "The teacup is overflowing," she says, and for some reason there is a chuckle in her voice.

"Oh," says Marigold. "I'm so sorry! I'll clean it right up." She whips her wand out of her waitress's apron, mutters "Tergeo", and siphons off all the spilled tea. "Sorry," she whispers again, and moves off, her cheeks burning red.

Once she is gone, Hermione leans forward conspiratorially. "You two have given me some very interesting ideas," she says.

"Tell us," I prompt her. I knew I had seen something click in her mind. I can't wait to find out what it is.

"First of all," she says, indicating my full-to-the-brim teacup, "I think Neville's parents' minds are like your teacup, Hannah. They are suddenly so full with the onslaught of memories from before they were tortured, that it's overshadowing everything else. I bet they still remember you as their frequent visitor over the years, but can't connect with that memory right now because their minds are overflowing. My suspicion is that eventually, their memories of these past decades will resurface, and we'll be able to reintegrate them. A traditional Memory Potion may help, as well as work with a Memory Therapist, like the one who has been helping Lockhart…"

Her voice trails off, and her eyes get a vague, misty look about them. I imagine she is already planning the next potion for Neville's parents.

"And secondly?"

"And secondly," she says, tearing her eyes away from her visions of her next brewing project, "what would you say if we could actually do it, Neville? Actually look into your mother's eyes and read her mind?"

"What do you mean, Hermione?" He has gone slightly pale, and his hand, still entwined with mine, but now on my lap instead of on the table, twitches. "I don't know how to do that. That's Legilimency, and it's pretty advanced stuff. I've only ever heard of it, never actually known anyone who could do it."

"You know two people who can do it," she says casually, and takes another sip of her coffee.

Holy Hufflepuff. Hermione is a Legilimens.

"You?" Neville's eyes are so wide I have a momentary, wild urge to put my napkin under his face to catch his eyeballs if they fall out.

"And Severus," she says. "He taught me. We've had the official paperwork from the Ministry for just over a month."

"I don't want him looking into my parents' brains," he says fiercely. "It would have to be you."

"Neville," she says. "He's a good man. As I've already told you, I trust him with my life."

"I'd rather it be you," he insists. "But…"

"But what, sweetie?" I ask. His expression is one of pain, as if he is fighting an inner battle.

"What if it's dangerous to do Legilimency with people whose minds are as damaged as my parents'? You don't think it could hurt you, do you, Hermione?"

"I don't think so, but we probably ought to ask Severus for his opinion," she says thoughtfully. "What concerns me more is the ethics of the whole idea."

"You said you're set with the Ministry," says Neville. "What's the problem?"

"The problem, Neville, isn't about the legality of my performing Legilimency. It's about the ethics of performing it on people who are not of sound enough mind to give me permission to try."

"It's all right," says Neville, smiling for the first time all day. "I've been their legal guardian since I graduated Hogwarts. I have authority over all their medical treatments, and in my opinion, this would qualify. It's ethical, if you're doing it as an authorized assessment tool. If you can find out what's going on in their heads, you'll be better able to help them with Memory Potions, or recommend a proper course of Memory Therapy. I'll sign whatever you want me to sign, Hermione. Let's do it."

* * *

**Part four: Severus**

"Their experience of insanity may make for confusing images for you to read, but insanity is not contagious," I tell her. "However, their memories of being tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange, while not damaging to you, will most likely be very disturbing to you, as you have very similar memories of your own." Foolhardy Gryffindor. She just had to take that memory back, instead of putting it, safely bottled, onto a high and dusty shelf, never to be retrieved. "Are you certain you want to perform the Legilimency yourself? I would do it in your stead." I alone know how much strength it must be taking for her to agree to witness the attack on the Longbottoms.

"I'm sure," she says, though her face is a shade paler than usual. "But thank you," she whispers, her eyes telling me how deeply she appreciates my offer.

"I want to be there, too," says Longbottom.

"I think it would be best if your parents didn't see you yet, Neville" says Healer Dennison, who was on duty this morning when the Longbottoms woke up and became so agitated. "I will be present the entire time and will monitor your parents throughout."

Longbottom groans and starts pacing the waiting room, running his hands through his hair. "This is ridiculous! I want to be there! I want to help them, and it's killing me that the best way I can help them is by NOT being there!"

Suddenly, Hermione grabs me and Dennison by the elbows. "Can you excuse us for a moment?" she asks the other two, as she pulls us into the corridor. Longbottom stops pacing long enough to shoot her a desperate plea with his eyes.

"If Neville and Healer Dennison agree to it," she says, once the door has closed behind us, "I think we can allow Neville to witness this procedure."

"I object, Miss Granger," says Dennison. "I believe his presence would upset them unnecessarily. You didn't see them this morning, but it was not a scene I wish to repeat."

I think I know where Hermione is going. "Let her speak," I growl at Dennison. "You might learn something." Healer Dennison had impressed me as an intelligent man, until just now. None of us should feel entitled to object to one of Hermione's ideas until we hear her out.

"What if we Disillusion Neville?" she suggests earnestly. "Silence him, too, if we think we must. He would be able to join us without disturbing his parents. I think he's got a right to be present if we can find a way to make it work. It is only with his permission that this avenue of assessment is even open to us."

Dennison's brows furrow as he considers her idea for a full minute. "All right," he says, finally. "I've known Neville since he was a boy, and I like him. I would like to help him, if it's possible. But my first duty has to be to my patients. I will agree to Neville being in the room if he is both Disillusioned and Silenced, and he must agree to stay seated and not interfere physically. Frank and Alice have already had a very disquieting morning, and do not need to be exposed to disembodied voices or touches."

"I understand," she tells him. "And I thank you. I think Neville will agree if I make it clear that this is his only option other than staying out of the room."

* * *

**Part five: Hermione**

Twenty minutes later, we are all in the Janus Thickey ward together, though one of our number is not visible. He sits with Hannah against the back wall of the ward, and the only indicators of his presence are the awkward angle at which she is holding her left hand – I assume she is holding his right one – and a slight indentation in the thin cushion of the green St. Mungo's visitor's chair.

I am sitting with Frank Longbottom on his hospital bed. Severus is on my other side. He insisted that I use him as a safety measure – if anything I encounter becomes too much for me, I am to squeeze his hand, and he will break my eye contact, severing the connection. His palm is warm, his long fingers intertwined with mine.

"Frank," says Healer Dennison, "this is Healer Granger. She would like to ask you a few questions, will that be all right?"

"Yes," he mutters, looking down at the thin white cotton blanket. His voice is raspy from years of silence.

"Hello, Frank," I say. "Can you lift your right hand for me?"

He raises it about a foot off his lap, then lowers it.

"That's very good, Frank. I am pleased that you understand me, and that you are able to follow my instructions. How about this one: can you tell me your full name?"

"Francis Algernon Longbottom," he rasps.

"Excellent, Frank. Now I'm going to ask you a tricky one. Can you count to one hundred by fives? Look at me, please, while you try."

"Five, ten…" He goes slowly, and I look directly into his eyes, pointing my wand at him under cover of my robes, and silently saying the incantation. I cannot hear him counting anymore – I am tipping into the tunnels of his soft brown eyes.

Jumbled images swim past, mostly of Alice being tortured by Bellatrix, but also of Alice tenderly holding a baby, and of a much younger Augusta Longbottom holding the baby as well, with a proud smile. I see Voldemort, too, and remember that Neville's parents had "thrice defied the Dark Lord." Sirius, Remus, and other members of the Order of the Phoenix… There doesn't seem to be much emotion connected with the various memories I have encountered. This surreal level of equanimity must be due to the strong dose of Calming Draught he was given. I relax a bit, once I realize that nothing in Frank's mind can harm me, and I let myself drift through the images that present themselves. Some aren't as clear as others, and I open myself to the shadows, welcoming them. And there they are – faint, blurry, but there – Neville, his features flexible, morphing incessantly as though he is not just one age, but many; and his Gran, a more constant image. I smile, and pull myself out of Frank's mind.

"Forty five, fifty…"

Have I been gone only that long?

"Fifty five, sixty…"

"Thank you, Frank," I tell him gently. "That's far enough. You've done beautifully."

He lapses into silence, and begins to pick at a thread on the blanket.

"I'm ready to examine Alice now," I say. I can almost feel Neville's invisible eyes boring into the back of my head. "When I have completed her examination, I'll give a full report."

I move to Alice's bed, and Severus follows. His hand has not left mine.

"Hello, Healer Granger," says Alice as I take my seat next to her, and it is not just her initiating the conversation that startles me. I hear music in her voice: I had expected her to sound as gravelly as her husband.

"Alice has exercised her vocal cords over the years," says Healer Dennison, noting my shock. "She has always liked to hum."

"I see. Alice, it is nice to meet you. I will be asking you the same questions I asked your husband. Were you listening when I examined him?"

She smiles shyly, and nods.

"Right then," I say. "Can you lift your right hand for me?"

She raises it in a high arc, gracefully, her eyes following the movement, as if she were dancing a lyrical ballet.

"That was lovely, Alice," I breathe. "Can you tell me your full name?"

"My name is Alice Louise Mayfair Longbottom."

"You seem to be thinking and speaking quite clearly, Alice, with good motor control. I'm going to set you a new challenge, though. Can you count by sevens for me? I'd like you to look at me, please, while you do it."

She smiles, and it is a smile I recognize from having worn it so often myself as a young girl. She expects to impress me with her mathematical abilities.

"Seven, fourteen, twenty one, twenty eight…"

I take a deep breath and release it, consciously emptying myself of expectations. I don't know what I will find in Alice's mind, but I can tell it will be different, somehow, than Frank's. Whatever it is, I tell myself, I welcome it. Again, surreptitiously, I point my wand at Alice and repeat the incantation inside my own mind. It is as if her wide hazel eyes have opened even wider and I am sliding down them like chutes on a playground.

My first impressions are very much the same, actually, as when I performed Legilimency on Frank. But I know I cannot compare and evaluate now, or I will hamper my exploration. Once more, I will myself to relax and open as the visions unfold. Bellatrix, her face beautiful in her youth, even when twisted in fury. Voldemort, less snake-like than when I first saw him at the end of my fifth year, but unmistakable. Frank, with a full head of hair and eyes full of love. And Neville, little Neville being held at Alice's breast, being rocked to a lullaby, being bathed, laughing while being tickled. A dull ache settles into my chest, and I don't know if the emotion is mine, or Alice's. I open myself to the ache, let it wash through me, let it soften me, and now other images on the periphery of my vision catch my attention.

Butterflies? They flutter nearer, a riot of color. The ache dissipates slightly as the butterflies approach, and now as they surround me I see they are not butterflies but colorful bits of paper – candy wrappers – no, gum! Droobles Best Blowing Gum wrappers in a rainbow of colors, and there is a sense of comfort and pleasure that accompanies them. Their fluttering becomes more purposeful, somehow, and yes, they flock into a swirling column, their colors blurring and blending in the movement, and the column becoming more defined, changing into human form, and then it moves, reaches out a hand, and one last Droobles wrapper falls into it. Neville. Neville of an indistinct age, his features somewhat blurred so that he could be seven, thirteen, nineteen. Behind him looms a shadowy figure in an oddly shaped hat: Gran. It is clear that Alice only ever had eyes for Neville on their visits. As his hand closes on the wrapper, I feel that same reassuring feeling that I had when the wrappers had surrounded me. It is time to leave. I say a silent thanks to Alice for this experience, and find myself back on her hospital bed.

"Eighty four, ninety one, ninety eight…"

"Alice, thank you, that's marvelous. You can stop counting now."

"Why are you crying, Healer Granger?"

Am I? I reach up and wipe my face, and find that Alice is right – my cheeks are wet. "I- I'm not sure, Alice. But I feel fine. Thanks for your concern."

"You need a piece of bubble gum," she says, fishing in her nightstand. "It's hard to be sad when you're blowing bubbles." She hands me a piece of Droobles in a green wrapper – sour apple flavor.

"Thank you, Alice," I tell her sincerely. "Have a good afternoon. I'll see you again soon."

She waves goodbye, and I rise, turning to face the others. "I have finished my examination of the patients. Why don't we return to the waiting room now?"

Healer Dennison summons the two nurses from earlier, asking them to stay with Frank and Alice, and the rest of us file quietly out of the room.

"Finite Incantatem," Hannah says, pointing her wand at Neville as soon as the door closes behind us.

The air next to her shimmers, and a very pale, tear-streaked Neville appears. "Oh my Godric," he says. "Tell me everything." He falls into a chair in the waiting room, his red-rimmed eyes not leaving me. Hannah sinks into the chair beside him.

"The most important thing, Neville," I start, "is that both of your parents do have memories of you both from your infancy and from your youth when you visited them here. I do not believe they know yet that the boy who visited them here was their son, growing up, but I believe they can and will come to that understanding, given time and a series of sessions with a Memory Therapist, and possibly application of a Memory Draught."

Neville exhales loudly, as if he had been holding his breath for a very long time.

"We have already made arrangements for Memory Therapy, Neville," Healer Dennison interjects kindly. "We'll do everything we can for them; you know that."

"Their memories of you as an infant are very clear," I say, and for some reason my throat feels slightly constricted. "Your father's memories of you visiting the ward are somewhat blurry, but again I attribute that to the shock of the onslaught of old memories. Your mother's memories of your visits were quite a bit more distinct, and very much connected in her mind with the Droobles wrappers."

"It's hard to be sad when you're blowing bubbles," Hannah says, quoting Alice's last words to me. "Do you think she was giving Neville the wrappers to try to cheer him up on his visits?"

"I'm not sure," I tell her. "I think if she had meant to cheer him up, she would have given him a wrapper with the gum still inside, like she did for me just now."

"Then why?" asks Neville, and I hear the note of desperation in his voice. This is a mystery he has pondered for as long as he can remember, I imagine.

"I can't say for sure, Neville. I do think one day your mother will be able to tell you herself. But I'll give you my best guess."

"Please," he says.

"The Droobles Gum seems to be a source of pleasure and comfort for her, as you heard."

Neville, Hannah, and Healer Dennison all nod, expectantly.

"I believe that when she gave you those wrappers, Neville, she was saying that your visits also brought her pleasure and comfort. I think she was letting you know how much she appreciated spending time with you."

Hannah bursts into tears, and Neville sniffs loudly. Even Healer Dennison wipes his eyes on his coat sleeve.

I feel Severus stiffen beside me. He is uncomfortable with such overt displays of emotion.

"Congratulations, Hermione," he says quietly. "This has been a very successful day for you. I trust you will excuse me now to return to Hogwarts. I must make some notes for a new formulation for this potion. I will see you there later."

"Of course," I say. "It has indeed been a successful day – for both of us. I'm so grateful to have been a part of this, and it never would have happened without your teaching and guidance. My advanced training has been more meaningful than I could ever have dreamed it would be." I give his hand a squeeze, trying to put into it all of the love and gratitude that is making me so happy I feel I could burst. "I'll see you back at Hogwarts soon."

"Thank you, Severus and Hermione," says Neville, "for everything you have done for me and for my parents." He stands and crosses to shake Severus's hand. "I'll always be indebted to you both."

Severus accepts the handshake, though he winces slightly and mutters something under his breath that sounds like "a pack of lips." I cannot imagine what that means, and must remember to ask him when we are alone.

With a slight bow of the head, Severus exits the room in his usual swirl of black robes. I miss him already.

* * *

**Part six: Healer Damon Dennison**

The combined genius of Severus Snape and Hermione Granger has truly been something to behold. Healer Granger's instructors had nothing but praise for her when she was doing her Healer training here, and of course Snape is legendary in the field of Potions. I had heard that they would be working together this year at Hogwarts, and was rather curious about how that would go – I never had much contact with the students, but got the impression that she was friendly and open, and everyone knows those adjectives are not appropriate for describing Severus Snape. And yet – the year seems to have gone well. They seem quite close.

"Healer Granger," I ask her, "may I see you in the corridor for a moment?"

"Of course," she answers, and follows me back out of the waiting room.

"You and Severus Snape seem to have forged a strong bond during your advanced training at Hogwarts," I say, conversationally.

"If there is something you want to say to me, Healer Dennison," she retorts disdainfully, her eyes narrowed, "I suggest you just come right out with it."

Why is she so defensive? I suppose she thinks I suspect them of being more than just colleagues… And perhaps she is concerned that her work will be questioned if her advisors think she is too close to him, that maybe she didn't do the work herself. Well, having witnessed the interaction between the two of them, I can say that his obvious pride in her and respect for her would disprove that theory. Whatever their relationship, I feel certain she has done a stellar job with her research and her practical training.

"I just mean to say that you obviously make a good team," I tell her. "What you accomplished today was incredible. I have been working with Frank and Alice Longbottom for over a decade, and in one morning you two have made more progress with them than our entire staff has done in all my time here. I, for one, am pleased to see that you have developed such a promising partnership."

She blushes and relaxes her crossed arms, one hand now resting on her hip. "Thank you, Healer Dennison," she says, in a much kinder tone. "It has been an amazing year. When I started working with Severus, I hadn't even considered that we might be able to help Neville's parents. To have learned so much, and to have achieved such encouraging results from a project that has taken us months of work… well, I just can't imagine that my graduate work could have gone much better than this. It's been challenging, no doubt, but also extremely gratifying."

"I don't know what your plans are for the next step in your career," I say, "but if you want to work here at St. Mungo's, you may certainly count me as a reference. I will be reporting to our Board of Directors about today's marvelous events, and will let them know in no uncertain terms that they would be foolish not to at least attempt to hire you – though I suspect the competition may be fierce, once this news gets out."

"I will keep that in mind, Healer Dennison," she promises. "But right now, all I can think about is getting back home and getting some rest. Severus and I were called here very early in the morning, and it has been a very emotional day. If you don't mind, I will just give Neville and Hannah my regards, and return to Hogwarts."

"Of course," I say, opening the door for her. "Please give my regards to Headmistress McGonagall – she was my favorite teacher."

She smiles and nods, and reenters the waiting room, where her friends embrace her lovingly. Alice Longbottom certainly warmed up to her, as well. Even the notoriously cold Severus Snape was distinctly thawed in her presence. Brains like hers and a bedside manner to boot… Yes, I will certainly make a strong hiring recommendation to the Board.

* * *

_A/N: I keep having to split up this last chapter. Once again, it had gotten huge and was covering so much ground it didn't feel like one chapter. So here's chapter 20, and Chapter 21 is ALREADY WRITTEN – and it's 150 as long as this one – it just needs to be beta-ed. I'll get it posted very soon, I promise. And I'm already working on the epilogue, which I hope will be fairly short, as epilogues are supposed to be._

_Also wanted to remind you that future stories by me & Felena1971 will be coming from a different account. If you have me on author alert or fave author status, you will want to add WordNerds2008 - userID # 1673268 - to your tags as well. Thanks!_

_Reviews make us happy!_


	21. Chapter 21: Coming Home

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the characters or setting – those belong to JK Rowling, to whom I am eternally grateful for creating the Potterverse. I'm just taking a couple of her characters out for a spin, but promise to return them, only slightly the worse for wear.

_A/N 1: This story is AU in that Severus Snape did not die. A rather brainy brunette saved him after Nagini's attack in DH. As much as is possible, I'll make this canon-compliant, though I'm ignoring the epilogue._

_A/N 2: Many thanks, as always, to the lovely, talented, and extremely generous-with-her-time __**Felena1971,**__ my co-author and beta-reader. You might have noticed I picked up the pace here with these last few chapters, and she's stuck right with me, polishing, fact-checking, and fine-tuning everything. Thanks also to my dear friend __**DJK**__, who responded immediately when I asked for the name of a well-known horseracing track in England._

**Chapter 21: Coming Home**

* * *

**Part one: Hermione**

"Severus?"

I am greeted only by silence. I've flooed to his quarters, hoping to catch him before lunch, but his robes hanging on the peg by the door indicate that he has already headed to the Dining Hall – mealtimes are far more casual when school is not in session. I hang my robes as well, looking forward to relaxing with him and talking over the morning's events.

As I head out to join him, however, I pass the still-empty frame of Dilys Derwent. I did promise we would return it when we were done, and I suppose we have no further use for the former Headmistress's services.

"Wronski Feint," I tell the gargoyle at the entrance to the Headmistress's office, my mind's eye seeing Viktor Krum hurtling toward the ground in the daring Quidditch maneuver he made look so effortless. The gargoyle moves smoothly aside, and I ride up the moving spiral staircase.

When I reach the heavy door to the office, I knock, but no one answers. Minerva must be down in the Dining Hall already as well. I would rather not have to carry Dilys Derwent with me to lunch, so I give the door an experimental push, and to my surprise, it opens.

"Minerva?"

No reply.

I see the empty spot where Headmistress Derwent belongs, so I lift the portrait gently and position the cord over the hanger, then stand back to inspect my work. One minor adjustment has it hanging straight. As I turn to leave, however, I find the bright blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore upon me.

"Hello, Hermione," he says kindly. "I have been waiting for an update on Frank and Alice Longbottom, and I do hope you won't make me wait for Dilys to return from her other portrait to get one. Can you tell me what happened?"

"Oh," I say, not wanting to be rude to him. I am reluctant to stay any longer than necessary, as I am not technically supposed to be here. "I can give you the report, Professor, if you like." I suppose Minerva will be at lunch for some time. And she will certainly know I was here and why, when she sees the portrait back in its place. I look around nervously, and see that now all of the other portraits are awake and listening.

"Please do, my dear. We are all anxious for news." He strokes his beard expectantly.

"All right, then," I say. I take a seat in one of the chairs facing the Headmistress's desk, and recap the morning at the hospital.

"Very good, Hermione! I see you have learned much from my old friend Severus this year. How are the two of you getting along?"

"Quite well, Sir," I say.

"I am glad," he says, his smile impish under the silver mustache. "You have had a complicated past with him."

"Yes, sir," I agree with a sigh. I do not want to discuss my relationship with Severus with a portrait of Albus Dumbledore, particularly in front of all these other portraits, the occupants of which are certainly still listening, even if some of them are pretending otherwise.

"First your contentious relationship during your student years," he continues, "then your rescue of him after Nagini's attack, and now more recently I hear you connected in a new way at the Shrieking Shack at Halloween."

My mouth drops open in shock.

"Don't be so surprised, dear," he says. "Though I don't get out much anymore, I assure you, I do still hear quite a bit about what goes on at this school." He chuckles lightly. "Dear me, I do think Severus probably needed a good kissing by then."

"Professor," I say firmly, "I'm sorry. I prefer not to discuss that with you."

"My apologies, Hermione. I am just pleased to hear that you are working so well together. I imagine you have learned a great deal from him this year, yes?"

"Yes, Sir. It has been an extremely interesting year."

"From you, my dear," he chuckles again, "that means a lot."

Too true. When your best friend is Harry Potter, you have a lot of interesting years.

"Is there anything you would like to tell me about your plans for next year?"

"Why do you ask, Professor?"

"Something in your voice – it sounded as though you have some concerns that your future could be dull by comparison to this year."

"Actually, Sir, I am quite concerned about that. I- I have been struggling lately with my career plans, and I don't know where to turn for answers."

"I am happy to listen, though I am not sure how much help I can be. I only ever had one professional aim, myself, and was lucky enough to work here at Hogwarts for many decades. I hope you can find something that makes you as happy as teaching and being Headmaster has made me."

"Thank you, Sir. You are lucky indeed to have been so clear from the beginning about your goals."

"I think that you will find your way is clear also, if you look into your heart."

"Sir, I have spent three years training as a Healer, and now have almost completed my specialty training in Dark Arts Damage Reversal. St. Mungo's will almost certainly make me a job offer, and probably a good one. This is what I have wanted for years. I will be able to help people, protect our Aurors, and put right things that Voldemort and his followers tried to destroy."

"But you are no longer certain it is what you want." His blue eyes are piercing, as if he is looking right into me.

"Sir, I am sure that I still want to help the sick and injured become whole again. And my work with the Longbottoms has made it clear to me that – even so many years after Voldemort's fall – we can still claim new victories for the power of love over the power of hate. The work I am trained to do still fills me with hope."

"And yet, you still sound hesitant, my dear. What is bothering you?"

"I know it must sound ridiculous to you, Sir. I know it makes no sense. But I am no longer able to imagine a future in which I am not working side by side with Severus. My studies with him will be ending soon, and I cannot bear to think about it. I used to look ahead and see many potential paths. Now, I see only emptiness."

Professor Dumbledore surveys me kindly. "Love is not logical, Hermione. You do not need to make sense of your feelings in order for them to be valid."

"I never said…"

"You don't need to say it, dear girl. I know enough of love to recognize it when I see it. And if I may be so bold, it strikes me that the two of you make a good pair. Do you know that he feels the same?"

I hesitate momentarily. Though he has not said it in so many words, I know that Severus loves me, and that our work together has been a source of… well, as close to joy as Severus Snape is likely to allow himself to experience.

When I give a firm nod, the portrait smiles benevolently at me. "Have you told him about your concerns?"

"I haven't. I don't want to let him down. He has been instrumental in my training. If I were to choose a different career, he would be disappointed in me for not putting my training to use."

There is no hope. If I leave him to work elsewhere, I will do work that is meaningful, and make Severus proud, but I will miss him every moment of the day. If I stay here at Hogwarts to be near him, I will need to find another vocation, and we will both know I am not fulfilling my potential.

"Sir," I ask, hesitantly. "You wouldn't happen to know of any upcoming openings on the Hogwarts staff, would you?" It can't hurt to at least find out about my options.

"My dear girl, I do not. And while I know that you would be a capable instructor in any of our subjects – except, perhaps, Flying or Divination – I think we can all agree that your talents would be wasted if you were not working in a field about which you are truly passionate. I'm afraid you will need to find another solution for your dilemma."

"Thank you, Sir," I say, standing to leave. "I'll get to work on that."

"Speak to him, Hermione. Together, you may be able to brew up a prospect you might not otherwise have considered. I know that the combined power of your two remarkable minds can make incredible things happen. You proved that today at St. Mungo's."

"That's true, Professor," I say, feeling somehow more optimistic. "If we can make Frank and Alice Longbottom speak again after two decades, who knows what else we can accomplish together?"

"I have no doubt that you will find something perfect," he says, and his blue eyes sparkle behind his spectacles. "Just follow your heart."

* * *

**Part two: Severus**

"How did it go, Severus?"

Minerva has left her seat at the center of the staff table and taken Hermione's empty chair.

Poppy Pomfrey, on her other side, leans across her lunch to listen as well. "Yes, Severus, do tell!"

I summarize the morning's developments for them, which is quite satisfying, as my retelling leaves them both with their mouths hanging open in an extremely unprofessional manner.

"That's incredible," gasps Poppy finally. "The Longbottoms' insanity had been considered irreversible by all the experts!"

"The experts did not factor Hermione Granger into their assessments," I tell her. "When she is involved, one must reexamine all assumptions of what is possible." As I have had to reexamine all of my assumptions about my future. "The witch has remarkable tenacity and drive. She tends to get what she wants, as I am sure you have noticed."

"I have indeed noticed that," Minerva chuckles. "My, what a gift you two have given us. To have Frank and Alice back…." Her eyes glisten, and her voice breaks – the blubbering old biddy. "You have done a wonderful thing, Severus. I am so grateful to you."

"The credit is not mine, Minerva," I inform her. "Albus kept it a secret to maintain my cover, but I attempted to create a restorative potion for the Longbottoms two decades ago, and met with no success at all. Hermione's meticulous research and creative problem-solving were what made our current attempt as successful as it was. I did not do this alone, and could not have done it without her."

"Modesty, Severus!" Minerva raises her eyebrows in surprise. "I did not know you had it in you."

Poppy chuckles in agreement.

I scowl at them both. "No, Minereva, honesty, not modesty. You know I do not mince words."

"Nor do I," Hermione says, now standing directly in front of us. This is the first real opportunity I have had to admire the work of the house elf who assisted us this morning. Hermione is lovelier than ever in a lavender blouse, her skirt a floral print that falls softly to just below her knees. We were deep enough in our conversation that we did not hear her enter, despite the noise her heels must have made echoing in the nearly empty Dining Hall. It is clear that others in the Hall noticed her approach, as all eyes are upon her now.

"So let me be plain," she continues. "Headmistress, you are in my chair, and I am a very hungry witch who would greatly appreciate being able to sit next to our brilliant Potions master."

Minerva rises, and when Hermione steps around the table to take her place, Minerva hugs her tightly. "Congratulations, dear," she says. "Such great news. I'm so happy for you both."

"What is it?" calls Rolanda Hooch from several seats down the table. "Did those two finally announce their engagement or something?"

"No, they created a miraculous potion," announces Minerva. "I'll ask them to tell us all about it at the first staff meeting after the holiday."

Hermione sits, finally, flushed with excitement, and perhaps a little embarrassment. There is a distinct possibility that some bulbadox powder might find its way onto Rolanda Hooch's broomstick.

"Are you free after lunch?" she asks me. "I would like to tell you about a discussion I had with Healer Dennison just before I left the hospital."

"I am indeed free after lunch," I reply. "Do you need a hand with something?"

I slip my hand furtively underneath the table, and slide it up her bare thigh.

"Yes!" she says, a bit too enthusiastically for the lunch table, as I brush her pubic curls with my knuckles. "Shall I come to the lab, then, after we eat?"

"Work, work, work," chides Poppy, from Hermione's other side. "Don't you think you could take a break to celebrate today's success?"

"Never fear, Poppy," I tell her, repeating my stroke up Hermione's heated thigh and watching her chest rise and fall more rapidly. "I will make sure that Hermione gets some well deserved rest." She always sleeps more soundly after sex.

"Thank you, Severus, for being the voice of reason. At least one of you has some self-control. If I know Hermione, she would just keep going and going until she collapsed, given half a chance."

Hermione bursts out laughing, her body rocking conveniently against my knuckles. She gasps, and passes it off as part of her laughing fit.

"What in Merlin's name is so funny, Hermione?"

"You- you just know me so well, Poppy," she laughs, opening her thighs wider under the thick damask tablecloth. "I do tend to keep going until I can't take anymore."

"I didn't think it was all THAT funny," the older witch replies dryly.

"I'm just overtired and giddy," says Hermione, as I uncurl my fingers, and slide one of them into her waiting heat. "I- I can't believe how loooong, ah…, this day has been already."

"Then you listen to Severus, dear. I don't want you working all night. When he says it's time to go to bed, you listen to him."

"I will, Poppy," she promises, another laugh threatening.

Yes, witch, you will listen when I say it is time to get into my bed.

"I shall make sure she stops working at a reasonable hour, Poppy. Even if I have to tie her hands to get her to stop."

Hermione had been about to take a sip of her pumpkin juice, but at my pronouncement, the glass slips from her trembling hand and spills all over the table. She puts her elbows on the table in the middle of the orange puddle, and buries her face in her hands, laughing.

"Oh, dear," cries Poppy. "You're soaking wet!"

"I am," she wails, now laughing so hard she has tears running down her face.

"I'll clean her up, Poppy," I mutter. With both hands now above the table, I use my wand to siphon off the juice.

"Come, Hermione," I say. "Let us get this debriefing out of the way, and then you can have a Dreamless Sleep potion and rest up." Having returned her skirt to its proper arrangement back around her knees, I pull her to her feet, and drag her toward the exit. Every eye is upon us as we leave.

"She just needs some sleep," I announce. "Her morning has been extremely exhausting, and she has been working too many late nights. Please, no visitors for her this evening – she needs to rest."

"Thank you, Severus, for taking such good care of our Hermione," says Minerva. "Please see to it that she gets whatever she needs so that she feels better tomorrow."

"Oh, he'll give her what she needs, all right." My back is turned toward the staff table as we head for the door, but I have no doubt that it was Rolanda Hooch again.

"That is quite enough, Rolanda" says Minerva, confirming my estimation.

* * *

**Part three: Hermione**

When the door closes behind us, Severus roars with the laughter he must have been holding in for several minutes.

I hit him, despite what he will probably say about my reflexes later.

"Severus Snape, you are incorrigible! I cannot believe you said what you said, and did what you did!" The Entrance Hall is empty, as everyone else is still inside, eating. And, quite likely, talking about us. Still, one can't be too careful. I pull him behind a tapestry into one of the many secret passageways around the school. "Next time, you will be the one getting the spanking." I swat him on his bum.

"Might I remind you, my dear," he says silkily, "that you are the one with a bare bottom for the rest of the week, and therefore ripe for a spanking." He slides his hand up under my skirt and caresses my bum before giving it a playful smack.

"If I did happen to need a reminder, your little act in the Dining Hall would have been quite effective," I say. "But actually, your reminder, while extremely… ah, pleasurable… was unnecessary. I've been acutely aware of my knickerless state all day."

"As have I," he whispers into my ear as he pulls me into a languid kiss, his long fingers pressing into my bare bum.

"How many duels would I have to win," he rumbles enticingly into my ear when I pull away for oxygen, "to extend this arrangement through the remainder of the school year?"

"Win? You only 'won' because I threw the match to get you into bed faster."

"Then let me rephrase my question," he says, holding my jaw so that he looks down hungrily into my eyes. "How many duels would you have to let me win for me to be able to extend this arrangement until the last day of term?"

"I don't know," I say, taking his hand in mine and leading him deeper into the passageway. "I'll have to think about it." I'm actually enjoying going sans underpants. I have felt sexy all day, even while eating breakfast in the tearoom at St. Mungo's, or reporting to Neville on my examination of his parents. He wouldn't have to 'win' any more duels at all. Still, I should make him work for it – he'll appreciate it more if he does.

"By the way," he says from behind me as we turn a corner, "do you have any idea where you are taking me?"

"Er, no, actually," I admit. "I haven't really been paying attention. I was just getting us away from the Dining Hall."

He pulls me into another kiss, pressing me into the stone wall of the passage, and taking my breath away. When he releases me, I am gasping for air, and my heart is pounding. He looks around, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I do believe that you are taking us to the library."

"The library!" I laugh. "My feet must be going there automatically, out of habit."

"Or perhaps your feet are hoping you will finally fulfill your fantasies of sitting in the library, attempting to study Potions, with me disillusioned under your table, making you squirm with delight, so that you have to stuff your fist into your mouth to keep from moaning loudly enough to attract Madam Pince."

"I have not been having such fantasies!" But I will now…

"I don't believe you. Let me take a look and see," he says, drawing his wand and looking into my eyes.

"That's not fair," I protest, looking away, so that he can't get the necessary eye contact to perform Legilimency. "Of course it'll be in there now that you've planted the seed!"

"Then let me look and see what fantasies you do have," he says.

"Merlin, Severus," I say as I turn and begin walking again. He follows close behind. "That sounds so… intimate. Having you penetrate my mind, and see my fantasies."

"Does that mean no, you won't let me?"

"No," I say, stopping, and taking a very deep breath. I turn to face him, and say very quickly, all in one breath before I run out of nerve, "It's-a-yes-because-even-though-it-scares-me-a-little-it-excites-me-a-lot."

"Then gather your Gryffindor courage, witch, and let me know you completely."

Even if he hadn't said it low and rumbling in my ear, that would have made me melt. To open myself that much to him… it actually sounds more sexual than intercourse. I'm going to let him penetrate me in every respect – not just my body, but my very soul.

"Not here," I tell him, breathlessly. We begin walking again, and now I know exactly where I am headed. "Will you return the favor?" I ask, without looking back at him. "Would you let me into your mind, as well?"

"I have told you in the past that you would not like what you found there."

"And I have told you in the past that I embrace everything about you, Severus – the dark and the light that combine to make you who you are. Will you let me know you completely, too?"

We emerge from behind a painting of several children playing in a meadow. "Hey, watch this," yells one of them, hanging by his knees from the branch of crabapple tree.

"Very nice, Charles," I tell the boy.

"Salazar's sandals, Hermione," Severus says, amazed. "Are you on a first name basis with all the portraits in the castle, in addition to all the house-elves?"

"No," I laugh, "but Charles loves to show off for me when I come past here almost every day."

"Oh, of course," he says, looking up and down the corridor, "we are near your quarters."

"Actually, Severus," I say, seeing an opportunity. "I have spoken with several portraits today. One of them mentioned you."

"Albus," he says grimly. "When did this conversation take place?"

"I returned Headmistress Derwent to Minerva's office before coming down to lunch, and he asked about our progress with the Longbottoms."

"And then, I assume, the conversation turned to matters that are none of the old man's concern."

"He asked how we were getting along, and I told him that I have had an extraordinary year working with you, and… that I will be very sorry when it ends."

"Albus has a nasty habit of sticking that crooked nose of his into everyone's business. I can only imagine his delight to hear that you are enjoying our time together."

"Severus, will you be sorry, too, when the term ends, and my advanced training with you is complete?"

He gathers me into his arms, and kisses me tenderly.

Charles and his playmates in the portrait snicker.

Severus releases me, and scowls at the painted children, who shriek, and hide behind the tree. He rolls his eyes, and takes my hand. "Let us continue this discussion someplace more comfortable," he says, with a gesture in the direction of my quarters, "where we will not have an audience of feral brats."

"Sorry, Charles," I whisper to the boy as Severus tugs me forward.

* * *

**Part four: Severus**

"Much better," I say, pulling her down onto the couch next to me. Crookshanks leaps up and begins walking across both our laps, arching his back and purring loudly. I suppose he has missed her, and I stroke the cat absently. Ugly thing. I scratch him behind the ears. "Now what are you going on about?" I ask Hermione. "Of course my days will seem much emptier once the term is over and you find work somewhere. I shall have to find solace in redoubling my efforts to frighten the new first years."

Tears gather in the corners of her eyes, and I fight the urge to brush them away for her.

"Do not waste your tears on the little dunderheads, Hermione," I tell her, even though I know that concern for next year's new students is not the source of her emotion. "A terrifying teacher is an essential part of the Hogwarts experience. I would be remiss if I did not play my role to the very best of my abilities."

"Severus," she whispers, "I can't express how much I will miss working with you."

"Assuming you do not accept work on another continent, we will still be able to see each other in the evenings, and spend the night together as often as you wish." I will not hold her back from her career goals. "It will be best if you find an apartment with a fireplace, of course, unless we want to use Portkeys all the time."

"Healer Dennison hinted that St. Mungo's was likely to make me a good offer," she says, miserably.

"How insensitive of him," I say, my voice laced with sarcasm. That would be a very lucrative offer for her. London is very accessible. She will do well at St. Mungo's – there will be a constant influx of interesting cases, and she will be able to follow the Longbottoms' progress. She will be near Potter and Lovegood, and much closer to her parents… In fact, I realize with a sharp stab of regret, she may develop such an active social life that she will not even want to come to me at Hogwarts nightly.

"I know it is what I am supposed to want, Severus," she says softly. She pets the cat, too, not meeting my eyes. "I've worked so hard for it for so many years. But now… after this year with you… when I try to imagine it, it seems all wrong."

I catch her hand in mine, and she looks up, searching my face for something. An admission, perhaps. Maybe all she needs is to know that I feel the same way.

"It has indeed been an extraordinary year," I tell her. "And the contrast between working privately with a gifted potion maker, whose company I find stimulating, and attempting to teach a classroom full of unappreciative morons…" It is hard to imagine two experiences more divergent. "By comparison, my usual work will seem even more tedious than in years past."

"Maybe I can consult with you from time to time on the most challenging cases," she suggests, hopefully.

"Of course," I say. "Any future collaboration would be a welcome diversion from the monotony of teaching basic Potions and brewing endless supplies of Skele-gro and Pepperup Potion for Poppy."

"Why do you keep doing it, Severus?"

"For that one student in hundreds, the diamond in the rough who has the talent and desire and the potential to be great. That one student who needs me to unlock the secrets of Potions and teach him what he needs to reach that potential."

"Or her," she scowls. "When the next one comes along, you'll probably forget all about me."

"Not bloody likely," I laugh. "Are you jealous?"

She blushes, which looks delicious on her. "Maybe a bit," she admits. "I do want you to enjoy your work, of course, but it's hard to imagine not being jealous of your next protégé."

I lift Crookshanks, who has fallen asleep on my lap, and place him rather unceremoniously on the floor. "Come here, witch," I growl at Hermione. I pull her onto my lap, and begin to unbutton her blouse. "I like it when you act a bit possessive."

"Yes," she says, now unbuttoning my shirt. "I might have to floo to your quarters during free periods, and remind you that you are mine."

"But then when shall I find time to mark substandard essays?" I ask, as I slip her brassiere straps off of her shoulders.

"Get a house-elf to put a T on all of them for you," she says as I lower my mouth to her pert breasts. "No one will ever know the difference."

"I think I've been a bad influence on you," I tell her, as her hands fumble with my trousers.

"Oh, I know for certain that you have," she agrees, finally freeing my already erect member, and easing herself onto me.

"My, my, we are in a hurry," I tease her.

"What hurry?" she gasps. "You started this at lunch ages ago."

She is in a hurry, though, and rides me as if she were trying to win the Ascot Gold Cup. A few minutes later, she falls back, panting, and now sticky with my seed as well as her spilled pumpkin juice.

"Oh my gods," she says, covering her face with her hands. "I don't know where that came from. I- I guess it's been such an intense day that I needed the release."

"Happy to be of service," I grumble.

"Just practicing for those free period quickies?"

"My free periods are a full hour long, Hermione."

"Then you'll still have plenty of time left to grade those essays," she says. She smirks at me unrepentantly.

"Let's get you cleaned up," I say, standing, removing my rumpled clothing, and moving toward her bathroom. "Where do you keep those musical soap bubbles?"

She follows me, still wearing her skirt and heels, her shirt and bra left behind by the couch. "Here," she says, summoning the Tranquil Tones Bubble Bath and adding a fistful of powder to the warm bath I am drawing for us.

I pull her close, and rumble into her ear, "The next time, I shall set the pace, and it will be so torturously slow that you will beg me for more until you can no longer speak." I feel her quiver in my arms. I reach behind her, unzip her skirt, and slide it over her full hips. It pools onto the floor. She starts to step out of her shoes, and I stop her with a shake of my head. "I'll take that," I say, relieving her of her wand. "Now go get us some of that elf-made wine and bring it in here." I climb into the tub, sinking into the warmth, and admiring the view.

Though she lifts one eyebrow at me, she does as she is told, turning on her heel and coming back moments later carrying the bottle in one hand, and two pieces of stemware in the other. When she pauses in the doorway, my eyes sweep slowly down this vision, wanting to burn each detail into my visual cortex. In the steamy bathroom, she looks like a figure of pure fantasy that just materialized out of a cloud – her hair dark and wild, loose around her shoulders; her skin pink and soft in the heat; her womanly curves and long shapely legs ending in black pumps.

I swallow hard, as I find myself suddenly with far too much saliva in my mouth. Oh yes. I will take my time with her later this afternoon. I will place burning kisses onto every bit of her perfect flesh. Twice. At least.

"Your wine," she smirks, stepping out of her shoes. She pours a goblet and hands it to me, then pours another for herself and climbs in, leaving the bottle on the floor near the tap.

"No need for Legilimency for you to get an idea of my fantasies," I say, realizing that the Tranquil Tones Bubbles are already loosening my tongue, as I would never normally share this much aloud. "You just fulfilled one of them."

"Entering a room with only high heels and a bottle of wine?" she chuckles.

"That is the one, yes." I close my eyes, and inhale deeply, enjoying the rich oaken notes of the wine's aroma before taking a sip.

"You have not had a fantasy like that," she says skeptically, drinking from her own goblet.

"Well, if not, then I certainly should have," I say, laughing.

"You laugh a lot more when you are relaxed, Severus. It's entrancing. I love to hear your laugh."

"You flatter me," I tell her. "It is the music, not my laugh, that has you so entranced." As each bubble pops, it releases a note. Together, they create a soft and soothing harmony, a gentle improvisational jazz number of sorts, with new notes arising as older ones fade away. Tension seems to melt away under their influence.

"It is wonderfully restful, isn't it? I'm so glad you suggested it."

"I do have an ulterior motive, of course."

"Such a Slytherin," she sighs, drinking more wine. "You're still trying to get into my mind, aren't you?"

"I am," I confess. "You said, in the passageway, that you found the prospect slightly alarming. I hoped to put you more at ease."

"I'm easy," she giggles. "It worked."

"Then you will open yourself to me?"

"All the way, love."

"Then look at me, and I'll slide inside."

"Ooooh," she sighs, and her dark chocolate eyes meet mine, full of trust, full of love.

* * *

**Part five: Hermione**

Having Severus inside my mind by invitation is an intensely pleasurable experience. Though I feel him inside me, I do not feel violated in any way. Rather, I have a sensation of being completely accepted for everything that I am – exposed, but honored, rather than judged. I have allowed myself to be utterly vulnerable, and yet I feel safe in his care. It is a rush, a high, to be known so intimately.

When he pulls out, he is quiet. I suppose it must have been an intense experience for him, too. It was probably his first foray into the mind of someone who loves him.

I smile at him, tentatively, checking to see that he is all right. He nods, silently, and downs the rest of his wine in one gulp – very unlike him.

"Severus?"

"You want a child," he says. It isn't a question.

"Severus, love," I say, crossing the tub and placing a hand on his shoulder, "what would make you think so?" I have not thought about having children since I broke up with Ron.

"Images – of a woman holding a baby at her breast, singing a baby to sleep…"

"Those are not my fantasies, Severus. They are Alice Longbottom's memories. I saw them just this morning, so I suppose they are on the top of my mind."

"I could tell that they were not fantasies," he says slowly. "The detail was too vivid – they were obviously memories, and obviously not yours, so I had guessed at the source. The longing that surrounded them, however, was yours. You never told me you wanted a child. I suppose I should have guessed it, given your age, but… you always seemed to be more interested in the life of the mind than in domestic things like childrearing."

I can't tell if he is upset, or just surprised.

"Don't put too much stock in what you found," I tell him softly. "Alice's memories were beautiful, but I don't know yet if I want a child of my own. I did feel an ache when I saw them, and I was not sure if the sensation came from her or from me. I may have felt a longing for what those memories represented to me – family, or the love of my own mother, or perhaps even just love in general. It may not mean what you think it means, and I suspect that the raw emotion of witnessing those images may change over time anyway. It's only been a few hours, and I'm still reeling from the experience."

"Of course," he says, quietly.

"How did it make you feel, when you found those visions and felt that ache in me? You – you seem stunned."

"Quite honestly, I do not know how I feel. You know I am not overly fond of children. Then again, I have never considered having any of my own. They have never before been an option, so I have never made a conscious decision about becoming a parent."

Dear sweet mother of Merlin – I cannot believe my ears. If Severus Snape thought I wanted children, I would have imagined him running as fast as possible away from me. He actually sounds as though he would be willing to consider the concept! Having children of his own is "an option"? This is some powerful bubble bath.

"Severus," I say gently, bringing him out of a moment of deep reverie. "You never answered me in the passageway. Will you return the favor and allow me into your mind?"

"I had to employ my shield for so long it almost seems a part of me. It may be difficult for me to let it down, though for you I will try. These bubbles increase my odds of succeeding."

He reaches over to the countertop. "No," I say, and his hand stops inches from my wand, hovering. "I don't think I need it."

"Wandless, even?" He laughs again, and brings his arm back into the tub, and wraps it around my waist. "Come then," he says, looking into my eyes. "Let's see what you can do."

I slide back a couple of feet to more comfortably meet the black depths of his eyes. I feel very privileged that he has chosen to open himself to me, after so many years of performing Occlumency as a means of survival. He is offering me a gift, and I accept it without qualification. I will honor whatever I may find in him.

"Legilimens," I say softly, and I feel as though I am tipping forward, pulled toward the irresistible gravity of twin black holes.

So many visions of myself! I am filled with wonder as image changes into image: the two of us brewing potions together, talking to Lily's portrait together, kissing for the first time in front of the Shrieking Shack, swaying together at the Valentine's Dance, making love in his bed. Geoffrey Crawford carries me in, unconscious. I kneel in blood-red water mimicking Severus's spell to knit Draco back together. I kneel over a bleeding and dying Severus, begging him to stay with me. I walk into the bathroom, carrying wine and wearing nothing.

I notice an image with a softer quality to it, and turn my attention gently that way – curious, but without expectations. Fantasies – Severus's fantasies. Many are very graphic sexual images – some of which surprise me, but I take them all in without judgment. However, Severus has several fantasies that don't fit into that category. In one, Severus and I are on a doorstep of a home, where he is shaking hands with a nondescript middle aged man; a middle aged woman pulls me into a hug and welcomes me home. In another, we hike through a jungle, collecting specimens of mosses and flower pollen. I see myself lounging on a couch, hugely pregnant, my feet in Severus's lap as he massages them. I walk down a flight of stairs into a Potions laboratory, carrying a bowl of unidentifiable ingredients, and join him at a work surface where he is slicing something green.

Conspicuously absent are any memories of his Death Eater days, of Voldemort, or, even, of teaching. Nothing from his childhood, nothing of his friendship with the young Lily Evans. As soon as these thoughts form, I find myself sliding out of the black pools of his eyes, and I am back in the warmth of my bath.

"You are doing it again," he says gently, as he reaches out to brush tears from my cheek. "Why does performing Legilimency make you cry?"

Because you want to meet my parents. Because you want to share your life with me. Because you love me.

"Because I love you, Severus. And I am so moved that you shared yourself with me this way."

* * *

**Part six: Severus**

"The tears are not from seeing frightening events from my past?"

"Not at all," she says. "In fact, that's when I lost the connection – I noticed that the memories I did see were all fairly recent, and all focused on me. There were no images from your days of espionage at all. Nothing, in fact, from before the Battle of Hogwarts. And as soon as I filled my teacup with those expectations, I lost it."

So tactful. She gracefully managed to avoid mentioning Voldemort, Death Eaters, or the fact that she saved me from certain death.

"Perhaps I was not as successful as I had hoped at lowering my shield. Those parts of my life that were most dangerous – the times when my shield was indispensable – were not available to you."

She snuggles into my chest. "It's all right, Severus. You did a wonderful job of letting me in." She kisses me deeply, slowly, her tongue probing, and again, I let her in. She tastes like wine and tears. When she breaks the kiss, she asks, "How did it feel for you, having me in your mind? You are such a private man that I suppose it could have been unsettling for you…"

"It was an entirely new sensation for me, to have a welcome, invited presence inside my mind – but it was not unpleasant. I imagine it was similar to what you felt."

"I don't know about that, Severus," she says, all seriousness. "For a woman, being penetrated by her lover is exciting and pleasurable, and when you performed Legilimency on me it was a similar sensation. For a man, used to entering his partner, rather than being entered himself, it seems as though it could be quite different – an unwelcome vulnerability. This time you were open to me, instead of the other way around – it was I who penetrated you, for once."

"A woman, using fingers, tongue, or tool, may certainly provide her lover with the experience of being penetrated."

"Yes, I… er… saw that." She blushes, but does not look away. "And you would like…?"

"You wanted to see my fantasies. Now you have seen them. What you do, or do not do, with that knowledge is up to you. I understand that your interests may not run completely parallel to mine. I have always tended toward the, ah…, adventurous."

"Good Godric, Severus," she says airily, waving away my concerns. "You are talking to a Gryffindor. We thrive on adventure."

"And Lily teased me for being drawn to another woman in red," I laugh. "Now the appeal of Gryffindor women becomes clear. I have been seeking a woman who will not run screaming if I exhibit a few kinks!"

"Speaking of kinks, Severus," she says, smirking. "I have a new fantasy."

"How promising."

"The next time we make love, I want you all the way inside me – body and mind. Double penetration, as it were. Do you think you can make that happen?"

"I believe that can be arranged." She doesn't want me to just fuck her senseless. She wants to be mind-fucked as well. Despite the bubbles, I am no longer tranquil. Quite the contrary – I would like to fulfill this fantasy of hers as soon as possible. I pull the plug, and the water begins to drain from the tub.

"Excellent," she says, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. "I want you to feel my desires as they arise, and to feel the sensations I feel. I want you to experience my orgasm from within and without simultaneously."

"You, witch, are an evil genius," I say, as I reach for a towel. "If I could award you house points for creative use of Legilimency, I would."

"In lieu of house points to Gryffindor," she says, retrieving her wand, "I will accept a bit of redecorating." She flicks her wand, and her bedroom suddenly features a standard-issue student bed, complete with hangings in her house colors. One of her fantasies – to bed the Potions master in her old dormitory four-poster.

"I can do better than that," I tell her. I heartily endorse any and all naughty school-girl fantasies she would like to indulge.

"Oh," she exclaims, as her bedroom walls twist and warp, until they take on the appearance of the interior of the girls' dormitory in Gryffindor Tower, with two extra beds, just as it was when she shared a room with Miss Patil and Miss Brown. "My gods, Severus," she says, touching the walls and looking around her, awestruck. "How do you know exactly what my dorm looked like?"

"Your memories and my conjectures. Now, I believe Poppy told you to listen to me when I said it was time for bed?"

"Yes, Sir," she giggles as she draws aside the red and gold hangings and climbs in, beckoning for me to follow. The hangings swing back into place behind us, and we are enclosed in our own private world. "It's perfect," she sighs, as she sinks back into the pillows, pulling me down on top of her.

"Not quite," I tell her. I conjure our house ties, and she watches, curiously. "To symbolize our interhouse solidarity."

I tie the green and silver one around my neck. She shrugs, and reaches for the red and gold one to do the same, but I stop her hand.

"Sit up," I instruct her. She does, her questioning eyes on mine. "Now turn around."

When she is facing away from me, sitting on her heels, I raise the Gryffindor tie over her head and place it over her eyes, tying it behind her head.

"But Severus, I thought you were going to use Legilimency…"

"Patience, witch," I growl into her ear. "I intend to play with you for a while before I open you wide and plunge inside."

"Oh my gods," she gasps, and she quivers at this prospect.

"Now put your hands together in front of you," I tell her, and remove my own tie, slipping it over her wrists and making sure it is snug before knotting it.

"What are you going to do to me?" There is a touch of fear in her voice. She does not like feeling helpless.

"Whatever I like," I answer, and she squirms and groans in response.

* * *

**Part seven: Hermione**

I'm losing my fucking mind.

The strokes and caresses, nips and licks seem to be coming from everywhere at once.

After Severus blindfolded me and bound my wrists together, he began to explore my body with his hands and mouth. Between kisses, he brushed his lips down my ribs, tasted my nipples and my neck, and traced the curve of my hip with his hands. He murmured the most thrilling assurances to me all the while – and the promises of what he plans to do made me ache even more with want. Then he carefully laid me back on the bed, arms stretched over my head, to make good on his word.

I whimper and moan as he continues his investigation of my every erogenous zone. His slow exploration is heavenly, but I need more. My arousal has been ratcheting up and up and I need some release.

"Severus, my gods, please…" This divine punishment is unhinging me.

He chuckles from the vicinity of my navel, and spreads my thighs, and my flesh burns where his hands touch me.

"Just surrender to the experience, Hermione," he tells me. "Why are you in such a rush? I intend to savor this feast."

* * *

**Part eight: Severus**

Her entire body is tense with desire, her hips practically levitating off the bed, craving contact. I press them into the bed and hold her there, steady, as she strains and curses.

"Relax, witch," I growl. "I will not proceed until you lie still." I sweep my hands down her thighs, urging her to succumb to my ministrations. Little by little, she gains control of herself. I feel her yield under my palms, her flesh melting into my hands.

"Now behave yourself," I tell her. I stroke one finger down her dripping slit, and back up, grazing her swollen clit. Her breasts heave as she attempts to remain still. I can smell her arousal, and want nothing more than to bury my face between her slender thighs, but for the moment, I resist temptation.

"Gods, yes, Severus," she sighs, when I enter her tight passage with two fingers, and swirl them slowly. She holds her breath as I withdraw them, only exhaling again when I slide them back in.

The next time I remove them, I put them in my mouth and suck. "Mmmmm," I say appreciatively, so that even blindfolded she knows exactly what I am doing. "Delicious."

"More," she gasps.

I penetrate her again, gathering more of her juices on my fingers, but this time smear them on her lips until she opens her mouth and pulls my fingers inside, sucking her own essence from them. I replace my fingers with my mouth, kissing her deeply, the tang of her excitement mingling on our tongues. She rocks her hips into me, moaning into my mouth, and grinding her pelvis against my now impossibly hard cock. I slip my hand back down to delve once more into her dripping core.

"Relax," I tell her again, my fingers pumping slowly but rhythmically into her, as I move my lips to her succulent breasts.

"I can't, Severus," she cries. "I'm going to fucking explode…"

I tug gently on her erect nipple with my teeth, then kiss a path back to her soaking pussy. She pants, and bucks her hips again as I approach. Her clitoris is visibly throbbing now, and I cannot deny my hunger for her any longer. I fall to the feast, licking, nibbling, and sucking, thrusting my tongue into her. She comes to within reach of her climax, and I am enjoying myself too much to prolong her exquisite torture. I slip my fingers back into her tightening passage, and rake my tongue sideways across her clitoris. Her inner walls squeeze my fingers and she keens softly for a moment until she convulses around me with a scream.

"Jesus, Severus," she sobs, trembling with aftershocks. "You're fucking killing me."

* * *

**Part nine: Hermione**

He moves up my quivering body and releases my blindfold. His black eyes glitter with lust as he unties my wrists, and rubs each one. "Is there any pain?" he asks softly. I shake my head, incapable of speech. Merlin, if that was the prelude, I am not at all sure I will survive what comes next.

His cock presses painfully into my hipbone, making me gasp. Now that I have the use of my hands and eyes, I reach for him – he is as hard as an iron bar. His cock is so engorged it is almost purple. We groan simultaneously when I circle my fingers around his base and stroke slowly up to the tip. I lower my mouth to him, wanting the satin texture against my lips, and he allows it, but only for a moment. He catches my wrist, kisses it gently, and then – unbelievable! – he uses my tie to bind my goddamned wrist to the bedpost.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I demand.

"Whatever I like," he repeats, smirking broadly, as he binds the other wrist to the opposite bedpost with the Slytherin tie. "And I did quite like the fantasy you described in the bathtub."

Oh, gods yes. "Did I mention anything about bondage in my request?" I protest weakly.

"No," he replies. "The bondage is part of MY fantasy. You did suggest that my fantasies were not too adventurous for a Gryffindor like yourself?"

He looks intently into my eyes. I do recall saying something like that. Some of his fantasies, however, may take a bit of working up to – the threesome with Luna, for example.

"That is something you would consider, then?"

Oh shit, he heard that thought – I am, as I had requested, laid bare before him, body and mind. I feel his presence permeate my consciousness.

"Perhaps, one day, if she were open to it," I say. And I think she would be – Severus excites her, and I have always suspected she has a fondness for me that crosses the bounds of pure friendship.

"Yes, I think she would fuck you given half a chance, and I, for one, would enjoy watching."

Severus, you kinky son of a banshee, can we please just focus on what we're doing right now?

"By all means," he says, and he raises my left leg to his shoulder, and positions himself at my entrance.

* * *

**Part ten: Severus and Hermione**

It is a bizarre replay of our first time together, except now we are both visible, and now I share her thoughts and sensations.

I enter her slowly, pushing into her hot wet tightness, sinking balls deep into her, but feeling as though I have gone straight through her, as though we occupy the same space.

Yes, so thick, so hard, so deep, Severus. Take me, claim me, fill me, fuck me.

I grasp her by the hips, thrusting slowly. The sense of being inside her, while experiencing her sense of being filled by me, is unbelievably intense. If I go any faster, I will spontaneously combust.

We move together, flawlessly, seamlessly. I sense her every desire as it is born in her mind, adjusting my tempo, depth, and angle to give her exactly what she needs even before she knows she needs it.

"My gods, Severus," she cries ecstatically, and I feel her bliss – share her bliss – it is mine, too. We are one, the connection between us so strong that we have merged into perfect unity.

She wraps her legs around my back, willing me to increase my pace – she wants me to pound her into the mattress, but I know that if I do, I will last only seconds.

"Are you ready?" I grunt, holding back with all my strength. "If I give you want you want, it will be over very quickly."

I'm ready. Give me what I want. Come for me, Severus. I want to feel your hot flood surge into me.

Her thoughts alone are enough to break down my defenses, and I am past the point of no return.

I hammer into her, slamming into her with all my force, feeling her tighten around me, crashing with her over the edge, bursting within her, locked with her in a fiery explosion, molten lava flowing toward the sea.

Yes, yes, my gods, yes…

* * *

**Part eleven: Hermione**

When I awaken, it is dark. Severus is still asleep, draped over me, in this crazy replica of my old dormitory. Rolanda Hooch must have been delighted to have the opportunity to make suggestive remarks about us both missing dinner. I laugh softly at the thought, and Severus stirs.

"I'm sorry, love," I whisper. "Go back to sleep."

"What time is it?" he mumbles.

"I have no idea – I can't find my clock in this new room you made me. But I think it's quite late."

He rolls over, feeling for a wand. He finds mine, on the floor, sticking out from under the four-poster, and waves it lazily over his head, returning the room to its earlier appearance.

Without the hangings that were enclosing us, I can see my clock quite well in the silvery moonlight. "It's almost midnight, Severus."

"What a day," he says, horizontal once more.

"The best," I tell him. "Thank you for this wonderful day."

"Me?" He raises himself on his elbow, and strokes my face. "Look at me, Hermione."

I look. He is breathtakingly beautiful, the strips of moonlight from the mullioned windows accentuating the planes and hollows of his body. He could be carved of stone.

"My face, Hermione," he chuckles.

I raise my eyes to his face, and find myself drawn into his deep dark eyes.

"None of this would have happened were it not for you," he says huskily. "Everything good that happened today was a direct result of your actions and ideas. In fact, I would have missed out on all of this, if for once in your life you had done as I wished and left me to die that night."

He pulls me to him firmly, and kisses me, communicating all the gratitude he has never been able to speak. I return the kiss with interest, my fingers tracing the sculpted angle of his cheekbone and over his jaw to his neck, my lips following the same path. I gently touch the scar that nearly ended his life. Tears form in my eyes as I tenderly kiss the now healed wounds that could have taken him from me before I ever truly knew him.

"Damned good thing I'm so unmanageable," I murmur.

"Damned good," he agrees.

* * *

_A/N: I tend to do my best writing in the car (or sometimes the shower). In fact, I did some good writing for this chapter in the car and got so excited I missed my exit for home and had to backtrack. Lost a few minutes and was running late to meet my son's school bus, so I was speeding, and trying to imagine how I would explain it to the cop if I got stopped. ("Well you see, I am writing some Potter Porn, and I was brainstorming the final sex scene between Severus Snape and Hermione Granger, and got so distracted that I missed my exit... Trust me, it's hot stuff - you'd miss your exit, too - have a heart!") Luckily, I was not stopped. Because if I was, I probably would be in a mental hospital, instead of here on my couch writing the epilogue. :D_


	22. Chapter 22: Epilogue

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the characters or setting – those belong to JK Rowling, to whom I am eternally grateful for creating the Potterverse. I'm just taking a couple of her characters out for a spin, but promise to return them, only slightly the worse for wear.

_A/N 1: This story is AU in that Severus Snape did not die. A rather brainy brunette saved him after Nagini's attack in DH. As much as is possible, I'll make this canon-compliant, though I'm ignoring the epilogue._

_A/N 2: OMG! It's over! I can't believe it. To all of you who have read this and enjoyed it – it wouldn't have been anywhere near this good without Felena1971. If you like this and you want more of our stuff, be sure to add WordNerds2008 (User ID# 1673268) to your author alerts – that's our new joint account, and where most of my new stuff will probably be posted._

**Epilogue**

* * *

**Part one: Hermione**

"I'm so glad you could all be here," I say, as we all take our seats at the small table. It's crowded, but I don't mind. "It's wonderful to get everyone together."

I've never played hostess before – it's not a terribly comfortable role for me. But the cottage looks clean and bright, and we've brought in food from the Three Broomsticks, next door. I'm not really much of a cook, so Severus and I take most of our meals there. Hannah Abbot, er… Longbottom, now the proprietress since Rosmerta retired, has permanently reserved a small, private table in the back for us. It's not Hogwarts Dining Hall food, but it's pretty good, and Severus appreciates no longer sitting at the staff table, where he always felt rather exposed.

Even without a huge hall full of students, and fellow staff sharing the same table, we don't have total privacy, of course. The Daily Prophet still keeps a close eye on us. When we moved in together, it was front-page news, though I must admit that not many of our friends or acquaintances seemed terribly surprised by then.

We had gotten through the end my training program with our secret relatively intact. I wrote up our research on Cruciatus-Induced Damage and the potion we gave the Longbottoms, and received top marks on my dissertation. Healer Dennison and Healer Gustavson, the Advanced Training Coordinator, made strong recommendations to the St. Mungo's Board of Directors, resulting in a generous offer, which I accepted. For a year, I struggled along in my new job. It's not that the work was too hard, or the work environment not stimulating enough – I just missed Severus like an amputated limb. I still saw him at night, but it just wasn't enough. Whenever something interesting happened at work, I wanted to share it with him right away, and it was so depressing to have to wait, sometimes for six or eight hours…

He missed me, too, though he tried not to let me know it. He had said he would throw himself into terrifying first years with renewed vigor, but Hannah and Neville said that it just didn't seem that his heart was in it anymore. He wasn't taking nearly as many house points as in the past, and students rarely complained about excessive Potions essays.

It was obvious to me that we needed to find a way to be together the way we had been during my advanced training year. There had to be a way that I could be a Healer, and he could be a teacher, and we could still spend hours developing new potions and brewing interesting things.

I have Frank and Alice to thank for helping me find the way. As much as Neville keeps saying Severus and I saved his parents, his parents – indirectly – saved us.

When Frank and Alice were released from St. Mungo's, but needed fairly constant supervision, Hannah bought the Three Broomsticks from Rosmerta and moved there with her new in-laws. While she liked being at Hogwarts with Neville all the time, it had become clear to her that she was not a teacher at heart. A true Hufflepuff, she has flourished in her new job running the pub and the inn, and taking care of Frank and Alice and her customers. Neville spends as much of his free time there as possible, with the three people he loves most in the world.

I stop in frequently to check on the Longbottoms' progress, and I had always admired the little cottage next door, with its window boxes overflowing with flowers and its bright red door. When it went on the market, I couldn't resist taking a look. I'm not sure why, really – because I barely spent any time at all in my flat in London. I was either at work, or at Hogwarts with Severus. What did I need with a cottage in Hogsmeade? But as soon as I walked in the door, I fell in love with the place. And as soon as I saw the basement, I knew I had the solution to our problems.

When I made the proposal to Severus, it took him a full week to decide. He had become rather set in his ways, and a change of that magnitude was a tremendous leap of faith.

And now, we've taken another leap, which is why we have a house full of guests.

Hannah's gotten the evening off so that she and Neville could join us. The rest have flooed in from London. Ron's brought his new girlfriend, Cordelia, a tall, suntanned blonde, and one of Ginny's teammates on the Holyhead Harpies. I would have preferred to have only my closest friends here tonight, but when he asked if he could bring a date, I couldn't say no. In many ways, it makes my announcement a bit easier.

Severus loathes this sort of event, of course, but he is very kindly indulging me, because I told him how important it is for me to share good news of this magnitude with the people who are important in my life. He summons the champagne from the kitchen, and nine goblets.

"Champagne," says Ginny, a note of suspicion in her voice. "And a big party. What's the occasion?"

"She's pregnant," says Luna.

"Luna," I gasp, "how did you know?" We haven't told anyone, and I'm not showing yet. But Luna has always had preternatural powers of observation.

"Your breasts are fuller than the last time-" I shoot her a sharp look, "-the last time I saw you…" She smiles innocently.

Great. Now everyone's eyes are on my breasts.

"So it's true?" Ron looks wildly from my breasts to Severus and then, finally, to my face. "How in the name of Sir Nicholas's neck ruffle did that happen?"

Severus rolls his eyes. "I have maintained for decades that sex education should be a required class at Hogwarts. Perhaps Potter can explain it to you. He has impregnated your charming sister twice already."

"It is true," I say, wanting to stop the two of them before they get started. "I mean, it's true that I am pregnant. And also, of course, about Harry and Ginny. But this is not how I was planning to share the news!"

"And where is little James Sirius tonight?" Severus asks. He almost spits out the name. Poor little Jamie won't stand a chance with his "Uncle" Severus, bearing the names of his two worst school enemies.

"He's staying with his cousins," Ginny answers, addressing the entire table, and attempting to ignore Severus's tone. "Gabrielle is visiting Fleur and Bill for the weekend, and offered to babysit so Harry and I could get a couple of days to ourselves before the next baby comes." She pats her rounded belly lovingly.

"Actually," says Harry, taking Ginny's hand and giving it a squeeze, "would you mind, Hermione, if I took this opportunity to talk to Severus and Luna about something?"

"Er, no…" Does he know that Luna is our occasional 'houseguest'? Would it bother him enough to say something to them? In public? Surely not…

"It's about this baby that's coming," he says, looking adoringly at Ginny. Gods, I hope he means his own baby, and not mine.

"We've already decided that the baby will be named Albus if it's a boy, and Lily if it's a girl," she tells us.

Phew. He meant his own baby.

"Those are lovely names, Ginny," says Hannah.

"We were hoping you wouldn't mind if we also named the child after one of you," says Harry. "Albus Severus, or Lily Luna."

"I love it," says Luna, nodding so vigorously that her dirigible plum earrings swing wildly forward and back.

All eyes turn toward Severus. I know he is uncomfortable with this many people in the house, and our private lives being discussed, and now being put on the spot by Harry and Ginny. Please, I will him, say something nice.

"A weighty name for an infant," he says. "I cannot say that the child would thank you for it." He looks around the table at the expectant faces, meeting my eyes last.

Be nice, Severus, be nice. It's an honor to have a child named for you.

"But I am honored by your choice," he concludes. "I approve."

A collective sigh of relief escapes from around the table.

"Have you two decided what to name your baby yet?" asks Neville, and now everyone is looking at me eagerly. Thank Merlin at least this time they are looking at my face.

"Not yet," I tell them all. "We've only just learned we're pregnant two weeks ago."

"So," asks Ginny excitedly, "when's the wedding?" I stood up for Ginny at her wedding, and I imagine she expects to stand up for me at mine, as I have no sisters either.

Severus and I exchange a glance. Ever since we found out that we are going to have this baby, he has insisted that we should marry. I have insisted that I don't want him to marry me just because of the child. Unless he knows that he would marry me without the pregnancy, I won't do it. We have been fine living together all this time without a piece of paper to formalize our relationship. I love him, and though he still can't seem to utter the words, I know he loves me. We live and work together in harmony. We have created a wonderful life, doing Potions research and development, and running our own apothecary in our basement Potions lab. I consult on interesting cases at St. Mungo's and other wizarding hospitals, and Severus is a frequent guest lecturer at Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. We can raise a child together without being legally married. But he seems intent on doing it "properly," as he says.

"We're not sure," I say evasively.

"Your name is so well known, Hermione," says Cordelia. "Will you take his name and become Hermione Snape?"

I flush and look at Severus, who I know would prefer that traditional approach. But it's true I have made a name for myself with my maiden name. It would be very odd not to use it professionally, assuming we were to marry at all. "I- I'm not sure," I stutter. "We're still negotiating things."

"Negotiating about the name?" Ron laughs. "I started finding bits of parchment all around the house with 'Ginevra Molly Weasley Potter' written on them when Ginny was only ten!"

Ginny blushes furiously and punches her brother in the shoulder, hard.

"Just don't hyphenate it," says Harry, chuckling. "Granger-Snape sounds too much like a biscuit."

Cordelia and I are the only two who laugh – she must be muggle-born, like me.

"Ginger snaps," I explain to the rest of my friends. "They're a bit like Minerva McGonagall's ginger newts."

"Ginger snap!" cries Luna. "Hermione Ginger-Snap!" She gasps for breath and wipes away tears of mirth. "You must be rubbing off on Harry, Ron. He was never that funny before!"

"Er, I guess so," says Ron, clearly still finding Luna a bit mental. Harry, more used to Luna than Ron is, just grins and shrugs at him.

"Perhaps this is an opportune moment to serve the food," observes Severus, smirking.

Oh, thank you, my darling man. Anything I can do to change the subject. "Yes," I announce. "Let me get our food from the kitchen."

With a wave of my wand, the excellent repast soars out of the kitchen. Each plate lands with a slight bounce on my sunny yellow tablecloth.

"Let's toast to Hermione and Severus, and their future child," suggests Neville, raising his goblet.

"To the Ginger-Snap family," says Ron. Ginny punches him again, and Luna has another giggle fit.

Everyone drinks anyway. Even Ginny and I have just a sip. It's hard to be grumpy about my silly potential surname when I'm surrounded by friends wishing me well.

"Thanks everyone," I say, and I am slightly embarrassed to find that I am a little choked up. Severus, sitting next to me, must have heard it in my voice, because he puts his hand on my knee and gives a supportive squeeze. "And now, let's eat."

"Merlin, Hermione," says Ron between mouthfuls. "Your cooking has improved since our Horcrux hunt!"

"Maybe a little," I tell him. "But I didn't make this food. This is all courtesy of Hannah and her staff at the Three Broomsticks."

"Excellent nosh, then, Hannah," he says. "How'd you get away for the night, by the way?"

"Thanks, Ron," she says. "I have cooks and waitresses who can handle the pub, and actually the only people staying at the inn tonight are you four," she gestures at Harry, Ginny, Ron and Cordelia, "so no worries there either. And we've got one of the nurses from St. Mungo's spending the evening with Frank and Alice."

"How are your parents doing, Neville?" asks Luna. "Did the dirigible plum necklaces I sent them help at all?" She twirls her left earring unconsciously.

"They're doing pretty well, I guess," he answers. "Over time, they've got their memory pretty much all the way back, but they're still physically quite frail. And they've had a little of their magic come back, but it's sporadic and they can't control it very well. Hannah's been incredible, taking care of them every day for the past year and running the Three Broomsticks. I don't know what I would do without her."

"You'll never have to find out," she promises, and leans over to kiss him on the cheek. "They like the necklaces, Luna. Thanks for making them for us."

"So, Neville, you're our main link to Hogwarts now," observes Harry. "You'll have to keep us updated on all the news."

"What news?" he shrugs. "Hogwarts is Hogwarts. I love how even through changes in Headmaster, teaching staff, and student body, it always feels like home. For all of us."

"Not me," says Cordelia. "I was recruited for the Harpies from Salem Institute."

"I didn't know that," says Hannah, interestedly. "Was Professor Variella your Transfiguration teacher? She took my spot at Hogwarts this year."

"Yeah," she says, and now that I am listening for it, I can hear her American accent. She's spoken so little this evening – it must be difficult to be in a crowd like this, where the rest of us know each other so well. "Variella was my favorite teacher. She'll do a great job for you."

"She is doing fine," says Neville, "but of course no one could replace you." He grins shyly at his wife. "Or you, either," he says to Severus.

"I shudder to think what has happened to Potions instruction at Hogwarts," Severus says. "Brewster Mingleson is far too soft with the students, especially the first years. I had hoped that someone educated in the rigorous atmosphere of Durmstrang would be able to uphold my teaching legacy, but I was sadly mistaken."

"Don't worry, love," I tease him. "You can still scare the pants off the first years when you substitute teach or guest lecture."

"I do," he says. "It is most gratifying. Like coming home."

"See?" says Neville.

* * *

**_Part two: Severus_**

As soon as the crowd dispersed, I dragged Hermione into our bedroom and ravaged her. Perhaps she was correct that time at Grimmauld Place when she joked that social gatherings turned me on, as yet again I could not wait to bury myself in her. It doesn't hurt, however, that she glows with health. Pregnancy suits her.

I can only hope that fatherhood suits me. I warned her when we first began to discuss parenthood with any seriousness that my own father was abusive, and that I have had little to no exposure to proper paternal behavior. She tells me I will manage just fine as long as I always do the exact opposite of whatever I imagine my own father would have done in a situation.

Even if her simplistic solution were effective, I have other concerns. Genetics can be a risky business. What will I do if the child turns out to be a Squib? There is always a slight chance that two magical parents might produce a nonmagical offspring.

When I voiced this apprehension, she burst into gales of laughter. "My main worry is that the child could be smarter than the two of us put together, Severus. And that would be a terrifying prospect."

Then she became more serious and told me that if our child were somehow born without magical abilities, she knew we would love it just as fiercely. Frank and Alice Longbottom are living essentially as Squibs now, she reminded me – fully aware of the wizarding world, but not truly able to participate in it – and their son worships them. How she can compare my pride in my future child with Longbottom's relationship with his damaged parents is beyond me.

We now lie, sweaty and sated, in our four-poster bed. She insisted on a four-poster for those occasions when we are both in the mood for a bit of bondage. I concurred immediately. It was much harder, however, to reach consensus upon a color scheme for our bedroom. I suggested my house colors, and she suggested hers. We attempted a compromise by mixing our house colors, but all of the combinations reminded her of either Christmas or money. In the end, we combined my favorite color and hers, and decorated the room in black and a deep, vibrant purple. Against this dark backdrop, her skin is luminous.

She rolls over to face me. "Do you really miss Hogwarts so much?"

"How can I miss it, when you keep surrounding me with former students?" I tease her, stroking her arm. Her breasts are, as the sharp-eyed Lovegood told our assembled guests today, fuller and even lovelier than ever. "The school was my home for more than half of my life, Hermione. But this is my home now."

"Our home," she says, catching my hand and kissing my palm. "And I love it. I love the life we're building together, Severus. And I love you." She sighs with satisfaction.

"It has been an extraordinary journey," I say, nodding my agreement. "When we first met, no one – least of all the two of us – could have predicted that we would ever live and work together like this. I derive immense satisfaction out of proving everyone wrong. The only downside to the arrangement is that it meant proving ourselves wrong as well."

"Severus Snape," she chuckles, rolling back to face the ceiling and stroking her belly fondly. "It wouldn't kill you to use the word LOVE. You avoid it as if it were made Taboo."

"And this amuses you?" Even though she regularly invites me into her mind, particularly during sex, she still surprises me sometimes.

"I know you love me, but you've never said it out loud," she says. "I don't know how you expect me to marry you if you can't even tell me that you love me."

Is that the only reason she is so hesitant? I am not given to declaring my emotions, preferring to let my actions speak for me, but… if it gets me what I want… I retrieve my wand from the bedside table and summon her quill, her enchanted ink bottle, and her old journal – the silver and purple one I gave her for Valentine's Day. She arches an eyebrow, and sits up to watch me.

_I love you, Hermione Granger_, I write in shining silver ink. _Let this serve as documentation of my affection. _ _Now: say you will marry me._

I hand her the journal, and though I see her eyes get slightly misty, she tosses it dismissively onto the bed beside her.

"I was wrong about you, Severus," she teases. "You are not Gryffindor material after all. These are lovely words you have written, but you are not brave enough to say them."

She is only half joking. I know she does not doubt my courage, but I can see this is something important to her. She has issued me a challenge, and I need to determine the rules and the stakes. "If I say the words aloud, you will agree to the marriage?" I had expected my written declaration to meet her requirements.

"I would be far more inclined to accept your proposal, yes." Her brown eyes sparkle with amusement.

"This is blackmail, witch! What difference does it make whether you hear the words aloud or see them on paper? Or read them in my thoughts? Come, and look into my mind again and see for yourself how I feel."

"And what difference does it make whether you have a wedding and a marriage certificate or not, if you have a committed, loving relationship? Come, look into my mind again and see that I consider myself bound to you by love, not by law."

"That does not suffice, Hermione." I grab the journal and cross the room to replace it in the drawer of her writing desk. I know that she is bound to me by love, as I am bound to her. But it is no longer enough – not with a baby on the way. How can I make her understand me? "You have studied Potions long enough to know that procedure is important. One cannot just have quality ingredients near the cauldron and hope for success. The next step must be taken. The ingredients must be incorporated into the potion, or the desired results will not be achieved."

"Oh, for Godric's sake, Severus! I am not hanging around on the lab table. I'm in the goddamned cauldron already. That's what I've been trying to tell you. I have made the commitment."

She is no longer amused.

"But the potion has not been stirred correctly," I explain, making stirring motions in the air, "so that the essences of the ingredients are fixed together. Forever."

"We stirred the potion just fine," she says, her eyebrows drawn together, making her frustration with me evident. "Our essences are fixed together, Severus – I've got the results growing inside me."

"You are intentionally mistaking my meaning, Hermione. You are the cleverest witch I have ever known, and yet you insist on this too-literal interpretation of my words."

She rises from the bed and stands before me, fists on her lovely hips – a fighting stance. "If you would just come out with it and say what you mean, I wouldn't have to guess. I still do not see why you need us to be married, or stirred, or whatever." She mimics my stirring motion, then throws her hands in the air in exasperation.

"And I do not see why you do not want to be married. You wanted to live with me and have a child with me. Should you not want the marriage as well?"

"Severus," she says softly, reaching out and taking my hand in hers. "You are mistaking my meaning now. It's not that I don't want to be married to you. I have no problem with the institution of marriage, and I love you and plan to spend my life with you. I would marry you right now if I knew that you wanted to do it for some other reason than because I happen to be pregnant with your child! You never mentioned a desire for marriage until we conceived. Have your feelings for me suddenly changed, now that we are having a baby? How am I supposed to feel about that?"

"You take everything too personally," I tell her, and withdraw my hand. "You can be so infuriating!"

"It's a marriage proposal, Severus. How else should one take it, if not personally?"

"My feelings for you have not changed at all, Hermione. If it were just the two of us, for the rest of our lives, no – I would not need any formal recognition of our status. We have everything we need. But now that you are carrying our child, it is no longer just the two of us. We will be a family."

"I didn't realize society's conventions were so important to you, Severus," she says, and at least the teasing tone is back. "You can be so old-fashioned."

Something I said softened her again. I must be starting to get through to her.

"We will be an unconventional family," I say, drawing her back to the bed, and sitting beside her, "in many ways that we cannot avoid. Our child deserves what conventions we can provide. Imagine having Severus Snape and Hermione Granger for parents – two people who, like it or not, are still very public figures. Imagine having a father with no natural fathering instinct, who used to be a Death Eater and a spy, and who killed Albus Dumbledore. Imagine Harry Fucking Potter, savior of the wizarding world, coming to your birthday parties, and the Daily Prophet reporting every time you cut a new tooth."

Her eyes have been growing wider and wider as I go, and now she is nodding along with me.

"Dear gods, Severus," she says, her eyes filling with tears, "you're making sense. You may be right!"

"Was there ever any doubt?" I ask sardonically. "Any amount of stability and normalcy would be a relief for the child," I continue more gently. "Whether or not we need to be married for ourselves as a couple, we need it for our family. You love me, I love you, we plan to spend our lives together as a family, so we ought to get married and be a family."

"Severus, you said it! You said you love me!" She launches herself at me, and kisses me, her eyelashes wet against my face.

I brush the tears from her eyes with my thumbs and cup her chin in my palm. "Of course I love you, witch! How could you possibly believe otherwise?"

"I didn't believe otherwise, darling," she sniffles. "I just needed to know you could say it. That will help our child more than any marriage certificate, you know. All he will need is to see and hear that his parents love each other, and love him. Or her."

"Then you are still not convinced? What more can I do to get you to agree?"

She bites her lip, deep in thought, her arms still around my neck.

"Big wedding," she finally says. "All our family and friends present, held at Hogwarts, where we met…"

My worst nightmare, essentially. But if she is saying yes… It is only one day, after all, and then I would have what I want for the rest of my life.

I pull her onto my lap, and kiss her gently. "Whatever you like, Hermione."

"Are you serious? You would do that for me? I was joking!"

Relief floods through me. "Joking?"

"How about this, instead," she says, "you, me, my parents, Harry and Ginny as witnesses, private ceremony officiated by Kingsley Shacklebolt, and then we escape to our honeymoon in Bali."

That does sound far less painful. "Where would we hold the ceremony?"

"Well, since everyone except the two of us is in London, we could do it in London. We wouldn't need much space…" I can almost hear the ideas simmering in her head as she considers potential sites.

Then a smile lights her face. "How about at Grimmauld Place, in the library? Harry and Ginny would love to host us, I'm sure of it."

"Only you would want to get married in a library, Hermione." It is an appropriate place. It was in that library that I first committed myself to her, while talking with Lily's portrait. It might as well be the place I make it official. Potter might even bring the portrait of Lily back into the library for the event. She would like to be there, I think. And if Potter, Black, and Lupin have to watch me wed Hermione, so much the better, really.

"So do we have a deal?" Her eyes shining with love and excitement, she waits expectantly for my answer, as if there were any doubt.

"Absolutely, my love." I fall back onto the bed, pulling her with me while she squeals with delight. "Have I made you happy?"

"Absolutely, my love," she says, grinning, straddling my hips. "Want to see how happy?"

"I do," I say. "Open up, witch, and let me inside."

This time, she understands my words exactly as I mean them. "Legilimens," I whisper, as she looks deep into my eyes, and guides my erect cock into her tight passage.

Gods, it is incredible to be with her so deeply and completely, to share her awareness of the presence growing in her belly, and to find inside her so much love and joy. I lose myself. I am found.

* * *

_A/N: I will be taking a bit of time off of fanfic before I try anything else big. I'm going to try to write something original for National Novel Writer's Month in November. I may put up a one-shot or two in the next few months, either here on my own account or possibly on my new joint account with Felena1971, WordNerds2008 (user ID# 1673268)._

**_I really had a wonderful time writing this, and I'm so happy that so many of you had fun reading it. I've made some friends along the way, and I'm going to MISS our regular communication now that I won't be getting reviews & sending review replies. How about one last reply, everybody? : sniffle :_**


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